Sensitive Souls
by silentepidemic
Summary: Post-choking Mockingjay AU; Instead of giving up on him, Katniss works with Peeta to fight his hijacked brain and some deep rooted feelings. With her responsibilities as the Mockingjay and with the war, she struggles against what is expected of her and her desire to help Peeta through this major obstacle in their relationship. Katniss/Peeta with Katniss/Johanna friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Scorpio: Their distrust often stems from the fact that they are extremely sensitive souls. They feel more intensely than most other signs and an act of betrayal wounds them deeply–it injures their hearts and scars their souls.**

**A/N **_I wanted to explore what it would have been like if Katniss had really stayed and tried to help Peeta get better instead of running away to 2 and avoiding him. I also wanted to explore more of Katniss and Johanna's relationship because they are both so interesting and complex. Inspired by the quote above when I was researching zodiac signs for another story. I believe Katniss fits Scorpio perfectly; misunderstood, passionate, stubborn, and powerfully emotional. Also, sorry for the format issues when I first uploaded the story!_

* * *

I wake with a start and immediately feel unsafe. There is a steady beep of a monitor that I remember well. It offers no form of comfort, even as I associate the sound with Prim and her work in the hospital wing. I open my mouth to call for her and find that I can't. I panic and try to lift my head but it's heavy and my neck is burning. And then I remember, shutting my eyes and trying to make sense of it all. No, it couldn't be real. I scratch at my arm, determined to wake myself from some horrible nightmare just to wake up to his voice, soothing me back to reality. I only succeed in making my arm red sore. He's not here to wake me this time.

I fumble around trying to find some stability, something to help ground me, and think of my pearl, tucked away in the pocket of my jumpsuit. I gently lift my torso, careful to keep my neck straight, though a stiff plastic collar seems to be doing that for me for the most part. I look around the room and see nothing but equipment and chairs. The beeping gets louder and more frantic as I attempt to stand, alerting an attendant who runs in to urge me to stay in bed. I try to push her aside but I'm weak and she easily pushes me back into bed. I strain to make a cry for my sister and some pathetic squeak comes out painfully. My eyes grow cloudy with tears and I try to fight them as long as I can but soon Prim's sweet face is staring down at me with concern and the moment she grabs my hand, I lose every last bit of strength I had left.

"Oh, Katniss," she coos, petting my head with her delicate little fingers. It hurts when any sound escapes my lips but I can't help the little sobs that come out. I cry until my eyes are dry and achy, face puffy and swollen. Prim turns and nods to someone I can't see in the hallway.

Haymitch appears at my other side and smiles weakly. "How are you doing, sweetheart?" I manage a hiss at him, to which he responds with a smirk. I want to strangle him myself. It's _his_ fault that this happened. If Haymitch had just saved him instead of me, Peeta wouldn't be whatever monster he is right now. I clench my fists and squeeze my eyes shut. No, he's not a monster. He's just in shock. He was tortured and is traumatized. He'll be okay.

I don't notice Plutarch enter until he's already debriefing us about Peeta's condition. It wasn't shock. We all listen to him describe some form of torture that involves tracker jacker venom and fear conditioning. He tries to avoid my gaze when he says the Capitol changed his memories of me and sees me as a threat. He doesn't know if it is fixable but makes an attempt at optimism that I find shallow. I want him to leave but he continues to ramble on until Haymitch catches my scowl and ushers him out.

Prim squeezes my hand and goes to leave but I pull her back and plead with my eyes. She seems to understand what I'm saying because she goes to a cabinet opposite me to pulls out the jumpsuit I was wearing. She digs into the pocket and hands me the little pearl. I hold it tightly in my hand, determined to never let it go. I roll the little pearl across my lips, longing for a reunion I didn't get to have.

* * *

When Prim's shift ends and she finally leaves to go home, I manage to get to my feet and wander through the hospital wing, against orders. But I've spent so much time here that they shouldn't expect me to stay put. Most of the beds are empty and I only spy one face that I recognize. I think she might be sleeping but she lifts her head and scowls at me. The look is as sharp as her axe. Johanna Mason's body is a frail, thinner version of herself but she appears to be very much herself. I find myself drawn to her. We left her to be tortured by the Capitol too, after all.

As soon as I get near, she scoffs and says, "Oh god, what do you want?" She sits up and I can see how much her collar bones are pronounced against the hospital gown. "Here to complain about that nasty scar I gave you from digging your tracker out? To, you know, save your life?" I honestly don't know what I'd say to her even if I could speak. She did save me; she got me out. And then she was taken captive and looks like this. I just sit in the chair next to her bed. I don't know what to do with myself now. They're back. It's all I wanted since I got here to 13. But Peeta isn't really. And he may never come back.

"Oh come on, I was just saying that to get a rise out of you. No need to cry about it." I just look at her, feeling defeated. Her features soften and she offers genuine apology. "I wish I could've done something to help him. You should know he fought really hard for you. That" she points to the neck brace, "is nothing compared to what they did to him. He could only hold on for so long." Her tone shifts back, no longer tender. "I wish you'd gotten us out sooner. Maybe I wouldn't look like a pansy." She smirks at me so I know not to take that personally either. But I do wish we had got them out immediately, as soon as they were caught. Or not even— straight from the arena like me and Finnick.

As I get up to leave, Johanna says, "I like you better when you can't talk. Less annoying." I can't help but smirk a little myself. At least Johanna is the same, even if my world with Peeta has been turned upside down. I think about walking by his room, probably locked somewhere in intensive care, but change my mind and head back to my room.

Back in the room, I stare up at the ceiling, trying hard to think of what this all means for me. The pearl is curled about my fingers, smooth and perfect. I can't let the boy who gave this to me disappear. He's not here yet but I have to bring him home. I have to bring him home to me.

* * *

For the first day in the hospital wing, attendants frequently come in to poke at my throat and check the stability of my cervical spinal cord before they finally deem the injury to have caused only mild damage to the spine and only moderate bruising on my vocal cords. Still, I have trouble breathing and no sound comes from my lips without my throat being stabbed by some invisible knife. The stiff collar stays on but they stick an IV in my arm to feed morphling through my veins to keep me subdued and numb; I'm grateful as it usually provides a dreamless sleep, a precious gift. Prim visits any spare moment she has to read me stories from some old children's book she's found. But most of the time, I stare awake at the ceiling, thinking about the techniques they are attempting on Peeta. By the third day here, I'm itching to move and take advantage of the lunch hour to jump from my bed and scamper down the hall, unnoticed despite the loud clanking of the IV pole beside me.

When I reach the intensive care unit, the only sound present is the hum of an air vent. I look for some indication of where he might be and find his name outside the door furthest down the unit. I make my way down, aware of each step and the squeak of the wheels on the IV pole. I purse my lips, trying to prepare myself for the sight ahead. But when I finally reach the window, he isn't there. The room is empty. My heart drops a little, not sure what seeing him would have done for me anyways since he wants nothing to do with me.

I'm startled when I hear a door open down the hall and turn to see two men with their hands clamped around Peeta's arms, essentially dragging him back to the room as he fights the restraint. I can barely move at the sight of him, body thin and covered in purple welts and bruises. His eyes are dark and clouded when they make contact with mine. He pauses before throwing his head back and trying again to escape the grasp of his attendants. But he's not trying to get to me, he's just trying to break free of the hold on his arms. He looks terrified, even in this fit.

"Stop!" I manage when they are a few feet away from me and his room. My throat is on fire and I think I might pass out. They wait, surprised.

I brace myself against the pole and motion with my hand for them to loosen their grip on him, tightening a fist and releasing it in example. They just stare at me, Peeta still thrashing in their hands. They just walk past me and I only catch the unfamiliar black stare for a second before they turn and force him onto a bed, restraining his limbs. I watch, horrified, as he fights them and cries out desperately. A needle is pressed into his arm and he goes limp. The attendants don't even look at me when their shut his door and leave. I stare at his still body for a moment, alarmed he has left one prison just to return to another.

I walk back to my room, feeling as through I might just fall over any second from shock and from pain. I pull the door open and someone is sitting in my room waiting for me. I just climb back onto the bed and try to ignore Haymitch's stare while he seems to be eating what looks like part of my lunch.

"Aw, c'mon, we can't play this game forever." He doesn't know me if he really believes that. I send a dagger through his face with my glare and he just stares back, waiting. For what, I don't know. It's not like I could yell at him anyways right now. Maybe that's why he's here, hoping he can take advance of the Mockingjay's lost voice to regain my trust. But I've lost faith in him again altogether after what I just witnessed. He's still not helping Peeta and I continue to feel used; a stupid figurehead that they think they can manipulate to do whatever they please. He finally breaks the silence. "The way I see it, you have two options, sweetheart. You can continue to feel butthurt about this and push us all way until you're miserable and alone, or you can get over yourself and your feelings and help these people bring your boy back." Are those really the only options? How about I don't forgive you and help Peeta my own way. I raise three fingers. "No, you can't have a third option. If you keep blaming me, you won't be able to make the boy better. We have to do with together and you have to move on."

Part of me wants to shove him in the gut and tell him I don't need his help. But I also know that we are the ones that know Peeta best and I can't do this alone. I resign, nodding my head but that's all I give him, not wanting to provide any satisfaction. He just nods back and leaves, taking my cheese sandwich with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **_Thanks all for following and reviewing! :)_

* * *

Six days after the attack, the doctors sign off to let me return to my living quarters. I leave with a soft cervical collar they insist I wear for another day and while sleeping. I suspect they kept me here so long to make sure I actually complied with orders, something I'm not particularly known for. Once they determine I can continue on with a routine without making the injury worse, they are happy to let me leave; they already have their hands full enough as it is with Johanna. She seems to be having a hard time adjusting to this bunker and in addition to refusing to be touched, her nasty attitude isn't well received by any of the attendants in 13. The few times I left the room since I saw Peeta tied to his bed, she was always making some snarky comment as I walked by. Today is no exception.

Johanna cackles at my appearance as I'm leaving. "That thing looks even more stupid than the last one you were wearing," she says, gesturing to the collar. "It's like some wrapped a pillow around your neck. Ouch, watch it, asshole. Have you ever even done this before?" She snaps at the attendant changing dressings on her arm. Blood from the now exposed gash starts dripping down her arm. The attendant hesitates slightly before putting gauze on the wound and Johanna snaps at her, as if it were her fault. I don't want to know how she got this injury. "Squeamish? Ha, then I guess it's a good thing it wasn't _you _tortured by the Capitol, huh?"

"Shut up, at least you still have your sanity and you memories." It sounds pathetic in the soft whisper I'm able to speak but she seems to appreciate someone putting up a little fight to her remarks. She probably hasn't had good banter in a long time. Or even conversation; I haven't seen Finnick anywhere near here since Annie was released and everyone else is either too afraid or annoyed to talk to her.

"Enjoy your freedom," she calls to my back, bitter that I'm leaving.

"What freedom?" I respond but no one can hear me.

* * *

I make my way down to see Beetee, who sent me a message to come as soon as I was discharged. He's bent over a series of machines and types viciously while various lights and messages appear on the screens. I recognize radio waves and the occasion word but mostly it's all foreign to me and I don't care to learn. "Beetee?" He turns and smiles.

"Katniss. You are looking well. Recovering?" I nod. "I'm sure you'll feel as good as new in no time at all. And with your mother and sister, I'm sure you are in excellent hands." I nod again. I'm not interested in my recovery. There are more important matters to worry about here. He catches the anxious fidgeting and grabs a file from the desk. It's impossibly thick for a medical record of someone that hasn't been here for a week.

"I wanted to speak with you more about Peeta. Plutarch said he gave you the gist of it but I fear that he might be a little too soft when it comes to possible prognosis and recovery." No surprise. " Over the last few days, the people of 13 have gathered a team and tried to work with Peeta to understand what he is experiencing and what was done to him. Every time your name was mentioned, or even something related to you, he became tachycardic and entered a dissociative state ruled by fear. The sympathic nervous system is particularly complex and rooted in our basic instincts of fear and survival; it cannot be easily challenged. The Capitol's methods were brutal and they attempted to remove every positive association with you that existed. The venom has been difficult to remove but even with most of it gone, his condition remains the same." He fusses with his glasses for a minute. "I'm not confident he'll ever be the boy he was before."

I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to respond; his words are choking me. I can barely begin to process anything before he continues. "Two of the people assigned to his case said that you went to visit him a few days ago?" I nod, frowning at the memory of his flailing body. "They were particularly concerned by his attempt to break away from them at the sight of you. They said he had to be restrained and sedated in order to avoid another attack. It was risky and not in your best interest. I urge you to stay away from him until given permission from his team, in order to prevent further harm on you or him. You'll just make it worse for him, Katniss."

That didn't make any sense; Peeta made no attempt to attack me on sight. Sure, he was thrashing like crazy but he hadn't even seen me beforehand and was already struggling under the restraint. He wasn't terrified or brought into anger by me; that was the work of whoever those caretakers were. I'm about to voice that when his last statements register. "Wait, you're saying I can't see him?" My voice is hoarse but the frustration is crisp. "How are we supposed to make him remember me, our memories, if I'm not even allowed to be a part of this? None of you know him like I do." Beetee tries to calm me and reminds me to be gentle on my voice but I have no desire to listen to him after what he just told me. Especially about the lies from those people pretending to help Peeta when they are treating him like a criminal, restrained and censored.

I turn and leave, taking random turns and climbing stairs blindly until I grow exhausted and turn into an empty storage room, filled with broken technology and stacks of grey jumpsuits. I want to tear the ugly clothes to pieces and use them as kindling in a fire. But I find myself clenching my fists and punching at the wall until my knuckles are screaming with rage and I can't feel any pain from my neck. I rip off the collar and toss it in the corner of the room. A wave of relief washes over me, feeling like me again.

Peeta is the victim here, not me. Haymitch was right, as annoyed as I am to admit it; I have to just suck up my feelings and do this for him. I refuse to let them make me the reason Peeta is stuck like this.

* * *

The year my father died was probably the most difficult of my life. I watched my mother disappear and Prim shrink before my eyes. We went to bed hungry every night and Prim and I still awoke early each morning to go to school to learn about something that didn't matter compared to the way our bodies began to eat their own muscles away in order to keep breathing.

There was a mix of people in our class, from those in town to us in the Seam. The other kids from the Seam, despite not necessarily caring about our situation, understood well: fighting to make it to the next day or the next meal. The kids from town did not and could not. They were not yet of age to be reaped for the Hunger Games and typically had enough food to remain full bodied and healthy; their lives had little conflict that I could see. I remember a few girls even having full, rosy cheeks with big grins and bodies that held extra weight. Had I literally any energy to spare, I would have hated them. On the fateful day where the boy from town threw bread to the dying girl from the Seam, I was halfway to my grave.

Now, looking at one of the few survivors from town to make it out of Twelve, I feel an ache that I can't quite place. But you wouldn't be able to tell that Delly had lost her parents in the bombings by the wide smile she wears when she speaks. It's as if nothing could make her face dip down into a frown. Even on my better days, it's difficult to make me smile in a genuine way. She greets me like we are old friends and I politely make conversation. She soon talks about me like I'm exceptional, brilliant whereas I'm mediocre at best, not even factoring in my personality or demeanor. I think of the way Peeta idealized me before, when he saw whatever I did as something worthy of his awe. Maybe it's something about being raised in town; glossing over the reality and trying to see a glimpse of the sun where it's black as coal.

When she leaves us outside the observation room, I glance over at Haymitch with a question on the corner of my lips. He nods in response and I take a deep breath to prepare myself.

After my conversation with Beetee, I sought out Haymitch and told him about the request for me to stay away. He didn't hide his preference for my safety but I quickly shot that down, reminding him that my safety wasn't supposed to be more important than Peeta's. We soon decided to formulate a plan of our own for assisting this recovery process. Plutarch had invited Haymitch to the meetings with Peeta's hospital team and shared the details with me. It did not appear to be promising. Thirteen was full of experts of their world underground, which meant very little to us; their psychologists had decent qualities that suited their people but in no way could they understand the trauma that comes from being a child in the Hunger Games, not to mention combat the psychological torture done in the Capitol. Their tactics had less to do with the mind and more to do with the body and Peeta's issues were had a combination of both.

While tossing out ideas, Haymitch was the one to suggest getting an understanding of what memories remained intact from his childhood. This meant someone from 12 but they couldn't be associated with me and that meant someone from town. Then came Delly.

We walk into the room adjacent to Peetas' we are meet with stares of those assigned to his case. I wouldn't be allowed in here if Haymitch hadn't insisted. The team, including the two people that I saw drag him through the hall the other day, wait anxiously with pens and clipboards. I'm tempted to knock one of the clipboards to the floor, frustrated by the fact that they see this damaged human being as some broken toy that they can mess and experiment with until they are bored and toss him aside. I detest this whole place.

I look through the window and see Peeta, awake but restrained in his bed. He looks aimlessly around the room and I fear he catches my eye when he looks our way. But his expression doesn't change, the window appearing nonexistent from his room. He looks only slightly fuller than when I first saw him two weeks ago following the rescue. Some bruises are peeking from under the hospital gown but I'm most concerned about the slight hesitation and jerkiness in his movements. I long to see his clear blue eyes but they still have a clouded quality that prevent me from calling them his.

When Delly walks into his room, Peeta first flinches but then relaxes and smiles for the first time I've seen in far too long. I want to curl up in this smile, longing to see it again up close. Longing for a smile that is meant for me. He looks confused but relieved to see someone he actually knows. "Delly, it's good to see you."

"Oh and you too! How are you feeling?"

"Okay?" He looks confused again, like he doesn't trust his voice. "Where are we?"

She explains they are in District Thirteen and remains vague regarding his questions of home, referring to an "accident". She manages well until he asks why is family hasn't come to see him. She stumbles, likely recalling her own struggle to escape and losing her parents. "T-they can't. A lot of people didn't make it out of Twelve." She tries to distract him with memories of their childhood but his body becomes ridge and eyes darken.

"There was a fire. It was because of her. Because of Katniss." My name comes out like a hiss and I shudder. My name used to emit warmth from his mouth and now it's being spat out like poison. His body begins to shake and fight his restraints. Delly tries to calm and reassure him but he starts screaming. "She's a mutt! A mutt from the Capitol that is going to kill us, kill us like she killed everyone in Twelve! Don't trust a word she says!" They pull Delly out as Peeta thrashes around, hysterical and wide eyed. I can't watch anymore.

The hallway is too bright, blinding. Forget the choking, Peeta has cut into my chest and pulled out my heart with his bare hands. Even outside the room, Peeta's screams continue to seek me out, determined to burn into my brain. I don't think I'm strong enough for his. My breath comes out shaky and shallow, struggling to get enough air. My limbs feel heavy and foreign on my body and I think I'm shaking because Haymitch looks at me, concerned. I open my mouth to reassure him that I'm okay but nothing comes out and the world feels like it's spinning. He guides me somewhere and they stick me with a needle and I'm out.

I wake up in one of the hospital beds, an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. My mother is there and offers words of comfort and I pull the mask off to ask what happened. She assures me that I just had an anxiety attack and they gave me something to calm me down. She tells me I can leave whenever I'm feeling ready but encourages some time to rest. I take her up on it and she leaves. As soon as she's gone, the curtain to my left slides open and Johanna stares at me with an expression of disbelief on her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She stands over me looking disgusted. "How does anyone see you are a threat? You're pathetic." I'm still a little fuzzy but I sit up and ready myself for a fight.

"Screw you, Johanna. You didn't see him, you didn't hear what he said. See his body shaking like he was about to explode!"

"No, I just listened to him scream for months while you sat here looking pretty. You don't deserve how hard he fought for you. I wish they had just killed him, then he would have to come back to you, someone too worried about herself to even give a shit about what he has been through." She scoffs. "I can't _believe_ I risked my life for _you_."

I want to spit in her face, fight her to the ground and punch her until she takes it all back. But she's right. Have I been thinking about Peeta or myself? I've certainly been concerned about his state and worried about how he sees me but is that because I miss how he made me feel? Am I not actually worried about him and the desire to help him remember who he is, for him? So he can have his life back, not just be a part of mine. I am pathetic. "I don't know what I can do. He's not Peeta anymore."

She rolls her eyes. "Do you really believe anyone can remove the core pieces of someone in a matter of weeks? That shit takes year to build and create who you are. If he's loved you for most of his life, which I personally can't understand why he would even like you, then that's a piece of him that can't be taken away, not really. Get it? Maybe I'll try something your little brain can understand. You can use a bow, yes? If the Capitol tried to destroy your memories of ever using a bow, does that mean all is lost? No, that memory is deep within you and your body will never forget how shoot. Peeta isn't just going to forget how to love you; it's instinct, automatic." She punches my arm. "Fight for him, dumbass." She offers the hint of a smile before she turns and slides the curtain closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **_Thanks for all the support! I have a lot of ideas for where to take the story next, particularly when it comes to Peeta's treatment._

* * *

A few days following Peeta's failed test with Delly, Coin calls me to meet with her in Command. When I arrive, it's just Coin, Boggs, Cressida, Fulvia and Plutarch. A fun bunch. I'd rather be taking a nap somewhere than be dealing with more propo publicity stunts. Plutarch greets me enthusiastically, as we haven't chatted in weeks when I saw him yesterday. The rest are somber, ready to get to business as Coin stands and welcomes me, suggesting we get straight to it.

"We have achieved more we could have ever anticipated; I believe it has much to do with the success of the propos. Just excellent. Almost every district has been secured by rebel forces and is broken away from the hold of the Capitol, with the exception of District Two. As they have now been established as the main source of military and fire power for the Capitol, they are our toughest enemy yet." I don't see what this has to do with me, or the crew assembled in the room. Two was always babied by the Capitol and it is no surprise that they haven't turned on them yet.

I'm not the only one left wondering the point. "Are you planning on sending us there?" Cressida leans forward in her chair, already anticipating the potential.

"Precisely. We need to get them on our side and your propos have been incredibly effective. If we send you and the Mockingjay along with Boggs and his recruits, we are sure to make some progress. There are others working on military strategy here in Thirteen for the ultimate takeover of their military base but you can do your part in the meantime. The rebels from Two will house you while you're there."

"I'm not leaving." The whole room looks at me. The plan is ridiculous. Propos are going to be pointless in a place that has been eating up Capitol propaganda for 75 years. "There's no way I'm needed there more than I am here. We just got the captured victors back and I need stay here to help them." I avoid Peeta's name outright, not sure if it's for their sake or for my own. Coin purses her lips.

"Soldier Everdean, your responsibility is to us first. The deal was that we rescue the victors and you in turn give full compliance." The words are firm, unwavering. "We are recommending you go to Two at this time to quell the district." I tense, remembering her announcement and the promise to make me face consequences upon my failure to stay true to the deal. If I refuse, I risk the lives of all of us victors but if I go, how will I ever be able to fight for Peeta? Johanna's words ring in my head: the wish that Peeta be dead than be back to me, self-centered and weak; how hard he fought despite the endless torture; and most of all his instinct, the instinct to love me. I've always trusted by instincts and mine is telling me to stay here.

"I'll do the best that I can to help but I need to stay here. I don't think it'll even help for me to be there in Two. They are the closest you can get to the Capitol in the districts. My presence might make the issues worse." Coin watches me with narrow eyes but seems to consider the idea. I do genuinely believe it; I doubt even the rebels don't hold some form of resentment toward me.

"Okay, you can stay but when we go to take it down for good, I reserve the right to send you out there for the victory. No question." I nod and leave them to their plans, wondering if I actually convinced her or if she's devising a plan to punish me in the near future.

* * *

That night, I dream of Peeta. For the longest time, I could only imagine what the Capitol was doing to him and now that I know what they did, I can't unsee it. It's gotten so bad that I wake at least every hour, screaming. Sometimes I am being strangled to death by a Peeta with dark eyes. Sometimes I am frozen in his cell in the Capitol, forced to witness brutal beatings and torture as he cries out my name. Sometimes he dies, his heart stopping like it did in the second arena, only every compression and breath does nothing to revive him. He just lays there, dead.

Prim does everything possible to comfort me and Mom fights to remain sleeping through the episodes but it is clear my nightmares have begun to take a toll on their sleep. The next morning, Prim looks like she's fighting to stay awake during breakfast and spills water over herself in a drowsy haze. When she goes to get towels for the mess, my mother takes the moment to turn to me.

"I can try to get the doctors to give you something. To help you sleep? Anything that can calm your thoughts." She looks desperate and I nod weakly, wanting to be the smallest burden I can be for them. Prim returns and we talk of her work in the hospital until they both have to leave. I just stare at the empty tray while the world goes on around me; I don't fit. Not in Two with the rebels fighting the Capitol, not beside Peeta in the hospital as he screams my name in a fury, not with Gale as he dedicates his time to military strategy, and not even with my family anymore as they struggle to cope with my presence. I remember my mentor and decide to seek him out. I suspect he's in the place where I want to be but feel the most unwelcome.

I make my way to the observation room next to Peetas' and hear the familiar growl of Johanna echo through the hall. She's alone too and I feel empathy for her that I'm sure would make her groan and snap at me.

Haymitch is exiting the room when I get there. His eyes meet mine and he sighs. "He's not doing any better, Katniss." A fire is lit inside me at the defeat. Of course he's not doing any better; even Haymitch has been hesitant to let me even come near him since I watched him with Delly.

"Maybe he would get better if you actually let _me_ do something. Last time I checked, he didn't have any problems with any of _you,_ except maybe the team that restrains him like a criminal."

"They're doing that for his own safety," he says but he doesn't seem to believe it himself. This just fuels my anger even more.

I can't help it when I snap at him. "You aren't even giving him a chance. What does he even do all day?" I imagine him tied to his bed, lost with nothing but his twisted thoughts until someone decides to experiment with him. My voice falters. "Does he just sit there and think about the hijacked memories that have overtaken his brain?" Suddenly images appear in my head. Brute figures standing at the trunk of a large tree in a wood, the dark shadows in a cave lit only by a partly covered opening, a golden cornucopia. All painted with precise details that made me feel like gagging. "He painted the Games. He painted his nightmares." The idea feels so brilliant I'm frustrated I hadn't thought of it sooner. "We should let him paint. Do something that is him and truly him. He uses painting to process his feelings."

Then I think about another painting, one of me sitting on a hill, lit by an orange sunset. It wasn't from the Games; it was from Twelve. He wasn't processing his nightmares in that one. Or maybe he was but I don't think so. The painting was soft, not crisp like the ones with the vivid details of things that kept him stirring at night. He always made me out to be better than I am; even in this painting I was glowing with a radiance that I don't believe has ever existed in my world. I don't want to see how he might paint me now, the primary image in his nightmares; burning down his home, leaving him to die in the quell arena, slowly losing color in my face with his hands pushing into my throat. But I'd rather it be out on canvas than buried inside him until it comes out in a rage of screams and a violent attack. It is a good idea.

Luckily, Haymitch also thinks so. He goes to seek out whoever can get those sort of things; I'm guessing art isn't a priority in Thirteen. I should feel satisfied that I've done something but I don't. I still feel useless. Before I can stop myself, I open the door to the observation room. It's empty and I'm relieved. I see that Peeta's bed is positioned so he can sit up but that's pretty much all he can do. His arms are restrained, though at least not too tight, I think weakly. His face is turned away from me so I think he might be sleeping but he then shifts slightly and turns his head to stare at the ceiling. His eyes are still cloudy but I see a slight flicker that shines for a moment before it disappears again. I watch him for a while, just focusing on the even rise and fall of his chest, remembered how I could hear his heart beating when I rest my head on him before we went to sleep or when he cradled me in his arms after I broke my heel and couldn't walk for myself. Where was that boy within this shell? What if instinct wasn't enough?

Peeta lifts his head when the door opens and his expression matches how defeated I feel. A man walks in and sits in a chair beside the bed.

"How are you feeling today, Peeta?" His voice is soft and I guess he must be some sort of therapist or something. "Any different from yesterday?" Peeta just shakes his head. "Let us try some calming breaths, like we did yesterday, okay?" They begin some sort of activity that essentially involves controlling your breathing. I don't really get it but I appreciate this man being kind to him at least. I've been picturing his team trying to beat the memories out of him or drugging him into complacency.

Then the man says my name and Peeta's body becomes tense. He stares at the man, eyes immediately darker. The man isn't fazed. "What are you thinking about?"

"She's going to kill me," he hisses in a voice that isn't his. The man asks him why I want to kill. "The Capitol, they made her. To kill me, all of us." The man presses further, for more but Peeta can't seem to come up with an answer. Soon, his body is shaking against the restrains, overtaken by rage. No, fear. The man soon tells him to breathe and they work until his body returns to a state of calm. The man reminds him to do breathing exercises when he thinks of me.

After he leaves, Peeta is alone again. Just breathing, occasionally hitching slightly. And then I think I see something and press up to the glass as close as I can. I see a moment of clear blue in his eyes before the clouds overcome them but not before he mouths my name and a tear rolls down his cheek.

* * *

Before we go to sleep, Mom gives me a little pill that the doctors said is supposed to relieve anxiety and help me sleep. But I know that tonight, there will be nothing to stop the images of beautiful paintings and the clear blue eyes. Instead of screaming, I wake up sobbing, clawing at the bed trying to find the body of a boy who seems just out of reach.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **_Thank you all for the support, especially for those of you that take the time to review. It really keeps me going and I really appreciate it. There are some major events ahead, I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

My mother seems to think the pills work because she is absolutely delighted when she wakes in the morning, having had a full night of rest for the last few days. It turns out uncontrollable crying doesn't have the same volume as a scream; I definitely sleep less but at least they are getting some rest. This morning, my body feels achy and I'm dehydrated. Prim glances at me with hesitation and I know she must've heard me last night. I don't want to tell her about the dreams or talk about how hopelessness is overcoming me so I pretend I'm pleased with how well I slept. I dress and leave before she can question me.

I want to go to the hospital to see if Haymitch found paint for Peeta but know his attempts have been futile; Thirteen seems to be refusing to waste supplies on a mad boy that they already have hesitations about. I know they don't care about what I think he needs and this just makes me even more frustrated. He's not getting better and I've been too afraid to look at him myself. After that brief glimpse of what seemed to be something resembling Peeta, he's been having frequent fits and screams my name, seeking blood.

I didn't bother getting my schedule printed on my arm today so I wander around aimless until my feet bring me down past the research labs and to the underground meadow. I don't know why I'm here but I can't help but feel at least a little more at ease, surrounded by the chirps of birds and a light breeze that almost feels real. Sitting on a soft mound of earth, I just run my fingers along the grass, longing for peace in the woods. My silent haven is disrupted by the footfall I've come to recognize over our years together.

"What are you doing down here, Catnip?" I don't really know myself and shrug. He sits next to me and I resist the urge to just collapse into him; I want comfort but nothing is the same anymore with us. "Do you want to see what we've been working on?" He opens a folder filled with drawings and scribbled phrases.

Gale seems proud of his project, but I can't help but be horrified. They've been in communication with District Two, trying to come up with some sort of plan to take down their major base, something he's apparently dubbed "The Nut" after a conversation with Plutarch. It's a huge mountain encapsulating their whole base and they've determined it's near impossible to infiltrate but that was never their plan. He talks of avalanches and trapping everyone inside to suffocate. When he gets excited about the way that this prevents any of them from escaping through the tunnels, I feel hot bile in my throat.

"Gale, this is an awful plan." The words almost don't make it out through the burning in the back of my mouth. "They'll have no chance to survive."

He narrows his eyes. "That's the point." I just stare at him, wide-eyed. Every death that I have caused, directly or as the face of the rebellion, haunts my every moment; he doesn't even seem to care about the lives he is going to take.

"How is this any different from what happened to Twelve? Thousands of innocent lives were lost and you want to do the same to Two?" I want to shake this madness from him but I'm afraid of the fire burning in his eyes, afraid one touch could set me ablaze. "Why can't you give them a chance to surrender?"

"If they haven't surrendered yet, why do you think they would now?" He stands, just completely shocked by my responses. I jump up too, still keeping some distance between us. "I thought you would be on our side, fighting Snow and the people that destroyed our home."

"I am, I am against Snow and everyone else that has anything to do with what happened to Twelve but…" I desperately need him to understand. "We can't be like Snow, we can't kill thousands of innocent people with blinking an eye. We can't be like him, play the game like he does."

"If he's still playing his game this way, then I plan to as well." He leaves me standing in this replica of nature, feeling more lost than ever. But also angry. The wave of energy takes a hold of me and I'm on the move.

I walk through the endless maze until I come to the familiar sterile halls, which I quickly navigate until I'm right in front of Peeta's room. I can see he is alone, awake. I yank the door open and am about to storm in when a hand pulls me backward and essentially drags me out the door. My feet fumble, trying to follow whoever is leading me. I'm pushed forcefully onto a hospital bed and hear the curtains close around us.

"Are you really _this _fucking _brainless_? You can't just run into his room during the day, he's fucking programmed to hate you. I can't believe no one else even saw you. God, his team is doing a shitty job at monitoring him. If I hadn't seen you, they'd probably be restraining you too." Johanna sits on the bed next to me, pushing my legs out of her way. "What did you think was gonna happen? That you could yell at him until he came back? For someone claiming to care, you really suck at this."

"Well what do you suggest I do? I can't be alone with all of this anymore. I have ideas to help him but they keep rejecting them."

"Then don't ask, brainless. I have an idea of what you can do." She tells me they drug Peeta at night, give him morphling or something similar to keep him sedate. Apparently she visits with him while he's in this state, which I guess shouldn't surprise me since she seems starved for conversation but I'm pissed.

"You've been talking to him this whole time and you didn't even tell me? While you're telling me that I suck at helping him?"

"You didn't ask." She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "Shut up and listen. He's suppressed at night, not hyped like he was when they shot him up with tracker jacker venom in the Capitol. He's almost himself. Your best shot to reach him is to seek him out in this state. He's at least less likely to try to kill you when he's like this."

I decide that I'm going to try it and stay with Johanna for the rest of the day. She makes it seem like a huge imposition but I can tell she likes the company, even if it is me. Most of the day we sleep, with her on the bed and me curled up in the chair beside her. They bring her dinner but she refuses to eat it so I take half of it and coax her into eating the rest. At one point, we are both sitting on her bed and I get up the courage to ask her about Peeta.

"Did you know what they were doing to him? Back when you were in the Capitol?" She looks at me for a while, considering her answer.

"I think I knew some of it. It wasn't like they spent the whole time trying to destroy his memory of you. They mostly tortured him for the sake of it. He didn't know anything and it was pretty obvious but they still made sure he knew that didn't matter; he was being punished for what you did." She pauses. "He would cry at night, insistent that you'd be coming to save us." I hate myself for not saving him, for not getting him out of this prison right away.

"When did they…?" I don't even have to finish the sentence for her to know I'm referring to the hijacking.

"I think it started a little before he warned you about Thirteen. About the bombing. It just got worse after that. I don't know if they tried sooner but it really started to take effect when he realized when you weren't coming." She offers a weak smile. "He tried to hold on as long as he could but the doubt is how they found their way in."

We just sit in silence for a while. It's hard to process but one thing is clear; I made this possible. Peeta broke because of me. I don't realize I'm shivering until Johanna moves over and offers a spot under the covers for me. I hesitate and she just scoffs. "Come on, get in the bed. It's not like I'm going to bite you, I just want you to stop shaking. Just lay down." I climb in next to her and we just lay there for a while. There is some comfort that comes from the physical closeness and I fall asleep feeling warm and safe.

Johanna wakes me up with a hard jab of her elbow into my side. "Now's the time, Mockingjay. They're gone for the night." I grumble and turn to face her. Her body is impossibly gaunt and she looks especially tiny in this bed next to me, filled out and healthy. I just look at her for a moment. "What, see something you like? Is emancipated your type or something? Perfect, then let's go see your emancipated boyfriend." She shoves me out of the bed and I almost lose my footing on the floor. She peeks around the curtain before pulling it open.

She leads me to Peeta's room and stops outside the door. The blinds are drawn so we can't see inside. My limbs feel heavy and I don't know if I'm ready. "How do you know they gave him something?" I'm feeling nervous, remembering his fingers locking around my throat.

"They definitely gave him something. Otherwise his screaming would wake up the hospital every night." Right, the nightmares. I remember him telling me that he would dream about losing me but now I'm the villain in these stories. She waits for me to open the door but I can't. "For God's sake, do you need me to go first?" I nod and she shrugs. "Okay but you're still going in. Wait here." She opens the door but leaves it open part way so I can hear her.

He uses a sweet voice when he speaks to her. She asks about his day and what they made him do and he remarks something about recognizing a song they played for him. "I think I heard Katniss's father sing it in the bakery once." My heart stops. Johanna stays silent and waits for him to continue. "His voice always made the Mockingjays go silent, when he sang. They just listened. Katniss's voice made the Mockingjays listen, too."

"Really? I never really thought her voice was that special." I want to punch Johanna but I can't risk going in yet. Why would she say that to him? It's quiet for a few moments and I hold my breath.

"I don't think you've heard her sing. The world seems to stop." I feel tears forming in my eyes. I haven't heard him say anything nice about me in so long. It feels unreal.

"Do you want to see her?" Something happens that I can't see and I wait for what seems like forever before Johanna comes over to the door. She peeks her head out and holds out a hand. I take it and follow her in.

I just watch Johanna while we walk, too afraid to even glance his way. I think about the last time I was here and the choking and the look on his face. The Peeta lost within this boy I don't recognize. Johanna takes her hand back and waits. I hear his breath getting uneven and I just feel more afraid to look, to see someone other than him. Tears just start to fall as I can't help but feel overcome by every fear I've tried to suppress, the ones that come out only in nightmares. I finally look up and I imagine my face is red and swollen.

Peeta just stares at me. He looks unsure, like he's trying to read me, or he doesn't trust me. But either way, his eyes are clearer than I've ever seen. His features soften as our eyes meet for a few moments and I see him fighting a battle as the hand closest to me quivers within his restraints. I want to touch it but I'm too afraid. Instead, Johanna takes his hand in one of hers and then takes mine in the other. A gate opens and I'm sobbing.

"I'm so sorry Peeta." His eyes open wide in surprise. "I- I'm so sorry they did this to you and that I let them. It's my fault. It's all my fault." The room is quiet except for my gasps for air. "I didn't save you when you needed me most. I didn't come for you when—when you always came for me when I needed you." I feel lightheaded and dizzy, steading myself using Johanna but I can't stay much longer here. I squeeze her hand and pull to tell her we need to go when Peeta speaks. It's cracked and takes him a lot of effort to get out but he says it.

"I forgive you." He looks at me with his clear blue eyes, "I forgive you." He falls back on the pillow, his body jerking violently. Black holes forming in his eyes are the last thing I see of him before Johanna pulls me backward and rushes us out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **_Thanks to all of you that have favourited and followed and a special thanks if you reviewed! I really appreciate it! Hope you like this next chapter._

_Trigger Warning: Mentions of substance abuse/addiction and anorexia_

* * *

I stay with Johanna in the hospital overnight. I'm too overwhelmed to be alone after my interaction with Peeta and I don't mind curling up in the armchair next to her bed. After a quick argument, she convinces me to just sleep in the bed with her since there is enough room for both of us. She doesn't seem to mind the fact that I wake a few times crying or yelling through the night; she seems to have her own share of demons to fight in her dreams. It's not a sound sleep but those nights have been long gone.

I wake up to Johanna sitting up next to me, speaking to someone at not quite a yell but reaching volume. "What is it to you if she stayed here last night? You already think we are both mad anyways." She glances back at me as I sit up. "Maybe if you let me leave, you wouldn't have to put up with me and my shit."

"You know we can't trust you with your medication. We have to do it intravenously to control it. Your head doctor already told you that we need to start cutting back on your morphling to get you off it." Johanna mutters something under her breath at the attendant and shoos her away with her hands. The curtain closes and she turns to me.

"Finally up, princess? You might want to start doing whatever you do during the day, get away from all this crazy." She throws her arms up and stares at me wide eyed in emphasis. She collapses back on the bed and crosses her arms, her brows furrow in frustration. "I'm sure my head doctor will be around to try to talk at me soon anyways." I've never been good with words; I don't know how to offer comfort. "Just go. Now!"

I listen and head back to the compartment to change into fresh clothes. I'm hungry but I don't feel up for seeing anyone so I just curl up in my bed for a while. I already miss the physical closeness of another person. I wonder if I'll ever fall asleep in Peeta's arms again or if that intimacy is a casualty of the war. The thought might have destroyed me before but after the interaction we had last night, I at least have hope that I can help him. He fought hard against what his body wanted but he forced the words out: _I forgive you._ He was always too good to me and even now, when poison was pumped into him with the goal of destroying every positive memory of me, he is kind. I smile into my pillow. Even if he can't overcome his hate for me, at least that piece of him remains intact.

* * *

I decide to go to lunch after the nap, realizing I haven't had a full meal for at least a day. My family and the Hawthorns, sans Gale, are there. Prim greets me with a warm smile and a hug.

"Where were you last night?" Prim is genuinely curious, but my mother looks a little concerned. It's not uncommon for an absence any other time of day but it's not like there are many places a normal person might sleep.

"I'm sorry, little duck." I pull one of her braids playfully. "I found a really cozy place to take a nap in one of the closets and didn't wake until this morning." They don't really question it; my behaviour has been erratic since I got here and that answer isn't that strange anymore. I don't want Johanna dealing with any trouble for letting me stay there and I definitely don't want them to know we went into Peeta's room unsupervised. If either of them saw me at the hospital with Johanna, they don't mention it. "How about you tell me all about your day right now instead."

But we don't get the chance to continue the conversation as we are interrupted by Haymitch and Plutarch, who look somber and delighted respectively. "Katniss! Lucky to find you here. Finish quickly, we have so much to tell you." I frown and Haymitch eyes me so I know it's important. I immediately think of Peeta and the black that took over his eyes after I left; I don't trust Plutarch's expression as I honestly believe he would still be cheerful had half of the nation suddenly burst into flames. I quickly eat what I can and leave with them. They lead me to a conference type room, similar to Command but much smaller.

Plutarch can't contain his excitement. "We've made a major breakthrough with Peeta. I guess the combination of everything has finally had an effect on him." I look to Haymitch, who seems to be grimacing.

"What does that mean, 'breakthrough?'" For all I know, this could mean he finally put his head through the window. I keep an eye on Haymitch while Plutarch speaks.

"It's incredible. This morning, Peeta didn't have a single episode. They sedate him at night and as it wears off in the morning, he always goes into a fit of sorts. His heart rate jumps, he fights the restraints and screams. You know, that sort of stuff." He mentions it like this madness is a normal state of being. "But today, we was completely calm. There was a moment where the doctors thought he might break into an episode but he seemed to relax himself back down. It's like we've broken through some barrier in his mind! There is still a long way to go, I'm sure but this is major progress." How is that even possible? Before I can respond, Haymitch jumps in.

"Now, sweetheart, we don't know if this is temporary. He could just be having a good day; don't get your hopes up or think you can just run in there expecting Peeta to be back. Even if he is doing better, there is no guarantee he'll get back to where he was before."

"So what is it? Is he doing better or is he not?" I wait for Haymitch to affirm one way or the other.

"Technically, yes. He's doing much better. But it doesn't mean—"

"I heard you." Sometimes I appreciate that he is realistic but I really don't need it right now. "But if he is doing better, does that mean I could possibly see him?" This time I look to Plutarch, expecting affirmation.

"No. Whatever we are doing is working and bringing you back into the picture might make it worse. They've started to let him do normal things, like feed himself and have supervised hours without restraint. We don't want him taking any steps backward." I'm shocked. What was the point in telling me he was doing better if they aren't even going to let me try to communicate with him? I honestly doubt anything that they've done has made a difference, except maybe the calming exercises with that man with the kind voice. Even then, I doubt it would have made a difference had he not been talking with Johanna. She has probably made a larger impact on him than these clowns. I like to think seeing him last night, apologizing for leaving him behind, contributed to his being better today, too. But this isn't enough; we need him to be better than not having fits all morning.

"Can you at least try my idea with the paintings? Maybe try that next? I'm sure it'll help remind him who he is and process his feelings."

"Maybe when he starts doing better. For now, the plan is to continue doing what we are doing." They are useless. Haymitch is silent and I want to scream at him for not doing more. He believed I should be involved, that I had good ideas, and now he has shut me out again. I decide then that I don't need them anyways.

"Fine. Thanks for telling me." I leave them in the room and head straight for the hospital.

Johanna is a mess when I get there. She looks flushed and is more agitated than normal, which is saying something given how her hate for this bunker leaves her so cranky. "What do you want, brainless?" She wipes a hand across her face; I can't tell if it's wet from tears or sweat. "I'm not really up for dealing with your insecurities today, even if it gives me more material for me mock you. Hey, get that look of pity off your stupid face. I don't want it." I try to ignore the extra nastiness that she spits at me.

"I need your help with something." She scoffs and stares in disbelief.

"Really? Could you be any more selfish?"

"Oh shut up, it's for Peeta, okay? These people are idiots and you're the only one who seems to be helping him. Did you notice he hasn't made a fuss or screamed since we saw him last night?"

"He screams in my nightmares." She snaps back. "His screams never stop for me." I try as hard as I can to bury every bit of sympathy I have inside myself, knowing how poorly she'd respond to it. I channel every ounce of Johanna I have in myself.

"I don't care, get over it. Stop being selfish and help me make him better." Her eyes widened and I'm certain she's going slap me or claw my eyes out or something more violent. I wait, clenching my fists to steady myself. Instead, her eyes get glossy and wet but she just blinks it away.

"Fine." She crosses her arms and glares at me. Then she pats the mattress near her feet before curling her legs underneath her. I sit, cross-legged on the bed. "You didn't have to be a bitch."

"I could say the same to you." I see her trying to resist the smile that forms at the corners of her mouth.

I convince a nurse to let me take Johanna for a walk off the unit; I suspect she just wants some peace from the endless waves of profanity. I lead her down to one of my favourite nap locations, an empty classroom. I don't know why it had slipped my mind before, all of the supplies stored in the very cabinet in which I had hidden from responsibility. I gather up a pad of paper and as many pencils I can fit in my pockets without looking suspicious. I find a small tray with a rainbow of color squares which I recognize as the same kind of paint that Peeta had used in my family's plant book. I take that too.

We go to the door and I realize I still have the pad of paper in my hand. I stare at it not sure where to put it. Johanna snatches it from me and pulls up the front of her gown, putting the paper flat against her stomach, held in place with the band of her leggings. I catch a glimpse of her rib cage exposed above the fabric of the pants, morbidly thin in the way Prim was after our father had died. She should have gained some weight by now. The clothes hang loose, covering up the sketchpad but also the way her bones protrude against her skin. I avert my gaze but I know she saw me. She purses her lips but doesn't say anything.

I lead the way but I don't go back to the hospital. Instead, I bring us to my family's compartment. Buttercup meows excitedly at the sound of footsteps. Johanna smirks. "You have a cat?" He rounds the corner and his ears flatten at the sight of me.

"He's Prim's." Johanna bends down to pet him and he eyes her suspiciously before accepting the touch. I don't know why I brought her here. I guess I feel bad leaving her stuck in that bed all the time. Buttercup has started purring and rubbing against her legs. She is smiling at him and when he reaches with a paw on her leg, she picks him up. He looks huge in her arms, happy and purring like a little motor. She looks happy, too.

"I had a cat once." Johanna says unexpectedly. I don't respond, waiting for her to continue. "She was all black except a little bit of white on her face. She was a little grumpy, just like this guy." She scratches Buttercup under the chin before she puts him back on the floor, despite his mews in protest. "We should head back."

At the hospital, we unearth the art supplies and stuff them behind Johanna's pillow. I sit at the end of her bed while she repositions the pillow and leans her back on it. Then she looks at me and says, "Come on and just spit it out. I know you want to."

I don't know how to ask. "They're so strict about diet I figured that they would be monitoring your weight." Johanna sighs.

"They don't particularly care. Probably my sparkling attitude that turns them off." She tries to smile but suddenly seems too exhausted to act indifferent. "They won't release me until I'm a decent weight and completely off the drug. I want to get out of here badly but part of me was hoping I could just stay forever on a high, like the freaks from Six. But apparently I can't because they started lowering the dose today. Soon they'll probably force feed me that crap they call food." I get it, especially after her time in the Capitol and remembering what she said in the games about having no one left she loves. If I lost Peeta or Prim forever, I think I'd be exactly where she is now.

We sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the afternoon. When dinner arrives for her, I convince her to eat almost all of it, though she refuses to eat the stew so I finish it for her. I decide that I not only appreciate her company and her loyalty to Peeta but I also consider her a friend. When for the third time, she offers me space next to her on bed as we wait, I think she considers me one too.

I don't want to go in Peeta's room tonight. Johanna calls me a coward and I don't deny it. She takes some pencils and the pad of paper and walks into the room. I go into the observation room to watch. Peeta looks confused at the offering.

"Where did you get those?" He stares at them longingly, his right hand instinctively goes to reach for them but is blocked by the restraints. Johanna puts the supplies on a side table and frees his limbs. He stretches and sighs in relief. I can't imagine how that would feel, to be tied down. He then reaches for a pencil and turns it over in his fingers. "I forgot how it felt to hold one in my hand. But it feels like second nature now." His strong fingers caress the instrument, as if it were so delicate it might snap with any sudden movement. I touch my own fingers, remembering how he intertwined ours together. Then I touch my throat, remembering his thumbs, so gentle against a pencil, pressing into my windpipe.

"They are for you. Katniss got them for you." He jumps a little at my name but then relaxes. His eyes are cloudy but remain a cool blue. She hands him the pad of paper. He opens it and runs his free hand across a clean sheet.

"Why?" The pencil is shaking, his hand twitching just enough to be visible.

"You know why. She cares." Johanna envelopes his unsteady hand with her own hands, reassuring him back to calmness. I've never heard her voice so warm, kind. She offers words of comfort and reminds him that he is safe with her. "You're safe with Katniss too. She cares about you."

"Does she?" There is a harshness that I don't recognize but he reacts to his own tone, surprised by himself. "I mean, it's been hard to sort through." His voice is shaky but closer to normal. "A part of me says she does but it feels very far away. And the part that seems too close says she doesn't." He closes his eyes shut as if he is in pain. "Which do I believe?" He asks her desperately.

"Show me." Johanna points to the paper. "Trust what you put on that." He doesn't need to be told twice. The paper is cradled in his lap while he sketches something I can't see. I watch various wrinkles form on his face as he concentrates on specific details or looks up, as if trying to remember something.

After a while, Johanna grows impatient. "Are you done yet?" He assures her tenderly that he only has a few more details to go. When he makes the last mark, he holds it up for her to see. She squints her eyes, as if it's a puzzle to work out. "What is it?"

"A memory." He stares at it and touches his finger to the paper. "They say my memories were altered, the ones that involve Katniss. I didn't believe it but now I can't tell what is real; they all seem to blend together in this web of inconsistencies. But this one," he points to the paper, "feels untouched. Private. Real." He sighs. "I just wish I could figure out the rest." He closes the pad and gives it to her. He falls back on the pillow. "You can put them back on." As Johanna reties the restraints, Peeta's body gets more ridged and he looks like he is physically pained. It's clearly making him distressed but she has to do it and I just hope he can have them off for good soon.

I leave the room as Johanna leaves his. She doesn't say anything, she just hands me the pad. I flip it open and see an intricate drawing. I'm first amazed by the detail of the schoolyard and the clear accuracy of what it used to be. But the most important detail is the drawing of a thin 11 year old girl with a braid, holding a single dandelion in her hand. Even with the fine detail, the picture is soft and that is how know this isn't a memory that haunts his nightmares. I feel tears forming in my eyes and Johanna lightly punches my arm.

"I told you he was in there, brainless. Now go home and sleep. You look like shit."

* * *

I wake the next morning feeling better rested than I had in a long time. With the picture folded safely with the rest of my prized possession in the silver parachute, I feel good. Safe.

Prim tells me I looked peaceful as I slept this morning. She says almost didn't wake me. I joke with her as we prepare ourselves for the day. The three of us are walking down to breakfast when Boggs stops us in the hall. "Solider Everdeen, Coin sent me to tell you that it's time. You are going to District Two."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** _Thanks for following the story! I hope you are liking it! For the sake of not wanting to be incredibly repetitive, I've glossed over much of the action that happens in this chapter in the book (aka the takedown of the Nut). I didn't find it necessary to repeat and I know if you're reading this, you probably read the books and didn't come here just to read it again! I used some dialogue straight from the book for one of the major parts (©Suzanne Collins). _

_Enjoy! And thanks again for the support!_

* * *

I have only about ten minutes to mentally prepare myself before I'm on the hovercraft, headed to District Two. I reassure Prim and Mom that I'm just a figurehead and am at little risk, though I'm not entirely sure I believe it. As walk down to the hanger, Boggs leading the way, I can't help but worry about Johanna and Peeta, each dealing with their own demons from the Capitol, trying so hard to overcome them together. I know refusing to go to Two puts both of their lives in danger but I can't help but fear for their safety anyways. I feel like I'm abandoning them again.

I think Cressida and her team must be coming too but when I ask, Boggs says that she's already there. He tells me that only a few people aren't already in Two. He has been there for weeks but came back specifically to get me, which I think is stupid considering his rank but I keep that to myself. When I walk up the ramp, I am surprised to see Gale, already strapped in for departure. I strap myself into a seat opposite of him and Boggs heads to the cabin to give the pilot the go ahead.

Gale and I sit in silence for a while; I'm determined to not be the first to speak and suspect he feels the same way. I still believe his plan is too violent, unforgiving. I prove to be more stubborn as he finally gives up.

"Katniss." I look up, providing him only a stare of indifference. He looks hurt and it feels satisfying. "C'mon, Catnip. You're my best friend. I can't go out there unless I know you have my back." I sigh.

"You know I'll always have your back. But I can't support you. I can't support the death of all these civilians, not without giving them at least a chance." He looks surprised and I want to smack him. He still doesn't think what he's doing is wrong?

"But we are giving them a chance. I thought they would have told you." He points with his head toward the cabin, referring to Boggs. I was told nothing. "We are leaving the train tunnels clear for survivors to escape. We will be prepared and armed, forcing them to surrender in the square." I'm so relieved I almost forget about how Gale wanted to leave them all for dead in the first place. "Beetee convinced us it was unwise to do otherwise." Of course, he didn't come to this decision himself; he was vetoed. Boggs returns and I'm relieved to not have to continue this conversation.

Boggs instructs me on what I'm supposed to do, which isn't much really. We are to be positioned in the square like Gale said but as always I'm there for the audience, for the potential of good television. It's sickening, knowing that my face is going to be on front of these casualties; even with the potential for survivors, I know there will be a significant number of deaths. I think of the way my own father died, drowning on coat-black smoke, buried under collapsed stone or blown to bits in an instant; I would never know exactly how he ceased to be. This time, the loved ones of those lost in the mines will just picture me, pulling the trigger.

We get there and I just feel physically ill. We land in a wood that reminded me of our own outside the fence in Twelve. I absently fantasize about climbing one of the trees and hiding until it's all over. Boggs leads me to a camp of rebels and introduces me to people who I can't imagine remembering once the day is over. I'm prepared as the Mockingjay, suit and all; I'm reunited with Cressida and team but I'm not particularly excited to see them. The rebel leaders and Gale all head to review their strategy and I decline joining them. I don't want to know the particulars on how they are doing this.

It all starts quicker than I could have ever imagined. The hovercrafts drop their bombs with precision and the world seems to shake around us. The leader of the rebels in Two takes us directly to the center of town, right to the Justice Building. The hovercrafts fired at the center square, forcing the Peacekeepers back and providing us with the main building. For now, all we do it wait for any signs of life to escape from the mountain. If anyone does, they will be forced into the square with hundreds of rebels prepared to fire. I wonder what is worse: to die in the mountain or to survive just to be shot right in the chest.

When it comes to be midnight and still no one comes, I feel sick and defeated; they've all died some horrible death similar to that of my father. They want me to make some sort of speech and I can't imagine actually being able to stand, not to mention get up and speak to a district that just lost thousands of people. Haymitch promises that it could save more lives and so I let Cressida put a mic on my suit and prop me up. I walk outside, standing on the very same stage where Peeta and I had to stare on at Cato and Clove's families during the Victor's Tour. It feels so wrong. Haymitch starts feeding me line and as I start to speak, the train finally pulls up. The doors open and people and smoke pour out like a deflated wave. The passengers are armed but badly wounded.

I watch as one young man falls to the ground and the red of burned flesh coats his back, visible though scorched holes in his shirt. I recognize the wound, having seen many victims from the coal mines thrown onto my kitchen table over the years. I can't help the scream that comes out. "Stop!" I hold my hands up to the rebels, aiming for the injured men. I run for the man when he gets to his knees and points his gun right at my head. I raise my bow above my head in a show of nonaggression and look into the eyes of a man filled with anger and pain. He asks me for a reason not to shoot me but I have none.

"I can't. That's the problem isn't it?" I lower my bow. "We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We have every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them." I drop my bow and kick it aside. The man glares at me.

"I'm not their slave," he mutters.

"I am. That's why I killed Cato, and he killed Thresh, and he killed Clove, who tried to kill me. And who wins? None of us in the districts, it's always the Capitol that wins. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games." I can't help but feel like I'm still in the Games, being manipulated and killing people. I think of Peeta and the way the Capitol used and destroyed him, in exactly the way he never wanted to be used: as a pawn, specifically to destroy me. What am I right now? Haymitch speaks in my ear and says to keep talking, specifically about the mountain but I the words are stuck in my throat. I fall to my knees, now eye level with the man still holding his gun to my face. Haymitch speaks so rapidly in my ear I can barely follow. _Remember who the real enemy is._

"What are you fighting for?" The words come out quiet, pleading. The man just looks at me, confused. "We all want the same thing. To be safe, to be free. To not have to watch our children get reaped to be killed by other children." I raise my voice so others can hear. "We," I motion toward the rebels and those in the street, "shouldn't be fighting each other. We aren't your enemy. The Capitol, they are the enemy! We need to stand together and fight the hold that they've had on us for too long. _They_ are the ones that have killed the ones we love. This is our chance to put an end to the Capitol's reign but we need you to do it." I raise myself up and hold my arms out to the crowd. "We need all of you. Please, join us!"

I offer a hand out to the man in front of me but as he raises his own to accept it, a force slams into my chest and forces my body backward. As my back makes contact with the stone, chaos ensues. Gunfire, screaming. I hear Haymitch distantly telling someone that I have been shot before arms lift me and I'm carried from the battle zone.

* * *

The first thing that seems to register is the incessant beeping that reminds me that my heart is beating. I'm equally relieved and disappointed. At least if I were dead I wouldn't be playing these games, it'd all be over. Maybe even the hijacked Peeta would be better without having to even worry about me. I think of just curling up right here in this bed and staying asleep forever. I wish it was possible to just will myself into it. Maybe if I was asleep forever, the real Peeta would be there with me forever, too.

The familiar sound of the curtain sliding brings me back to the reality of this bed and the fact that I do in fact have a heart that continues to beat. I open my eyes to see Johanna's dark brown ones staring down at me. I notice the blue circles under her eyes and that she is shaking badly. Withdrawal is obviously taking a major toll on her. I don't have the fight for this.

"I knew you were stupid but I didn't think you were _that _stupid." She just shakes her head at me. "I'm surprised no one had tried to kill you sooner. It's a wonder you've even lasted this long." I try to sit up but the pain in my chest is awful and I can't.

Johanna pushes me over on the bed and I wince. She sits down and begins to mess with the IV in the crook of my arm, detaching it from the socket and then attaching it to her own. "What happened to cutting you off morphling?"

"You obviously don't need it." She sighs in relief as it feeds into her veins and I resist the urge to take it back. She clearly needs it though I can't deny my own body's needs too.

"Have you been shot recently? Then maybe _you _don't need it." She scoffs.

"Please, that bullet never touched you. Cinna made your armor thicker than the damn Peacekeepers'. All you did was bruise a few ribs and rupture an almost useless organ. And even if it was important, I'm sure they could find one for you. They need their precious Mockingjay." She rolls her eyes.

"They can keep their organs, I don't want to be the Mockingjay or anything for that matter." I avoid her gaze. "No one needs me." I seem to be making everything worse. I'm surprised no one tried to kill me sooner, too.

"Don't be stupid, you can't give up now. Peeta and I have been working hard while you've been lying in this bed and you need to start pulling your weight. Come on, girl on fire. That boy needs you." She unhooks herself from the morphling drip and puts it back in my arm. "Do you want me to leave you alone?" I shake my head. I'm sick of being alone. Johanna takes a hold of my hand and stays with me until I fall back to sleep.

The rest of the day is relatively uninteresting. The head doctor that Johanna has come to complain about makes a visit with me. He's a dull man with a voice that makes it hard to pay attention to what he's saying. He makes a weak attempt at concern for my wellbeing and the poor choices that seem to put me in situations of danger. I can't believe he's wasting my time with this and tune him out until he leaves. Johanna has a good laugh at my expense, finally not the one being psychoanalyzed.

Despite the protests of my body, the doctors won't let me lay around in bed all day. Prim offers to take laps around the wing with me, telling me all about her training to become a doctor. She seems to have aged 10 years since the reaping and I find myself equally resentful to the Capitol for forcing that on her but also grateful for this opportunity that she would have never had in Twelve. I can't help but wonder what my life will be like following the war. If I survive, I don't know what purpose my life will have. Taking care of my family has been my purpose since I was 11; who am I going to be when they no longer need me?

When the hospital goes quiet save for the beeping of our machines, I call out to Johanna. She offers a grunt in response. "What happens when the war is over?" It comes out in a whisper and she doesn't respond so I think she might not have heard me. The curtain opens and she sit down next to me on the bed.

"The way I see it," she keeps her voice at a whisper to match mine, "we could lose and if we do, you know they will kill us. Or we win and…" She trails off, thinking. "I guess we could die, too. But if we aren't dead, I don't know what will happen. I guess we keep living." I can tell by the way she says it that she doesn't seem to see that as a good thing.

"I don't know how to do that anymore," I say. She nods in understanding. I think all of us victors experience that feeling; pieces are taken from us, some larger than others. I don't know her story but I know Johanna suffered more than most. "How did you survive, after?"

"After the Games or after Snow killed everyone I love?" There is a challenge in her tone, daring me to ask, to wake a sleeping monster and hope it doesn't kill me. I wonder if she wants to tell me or if she just wants to see if I have the guts to pry into her life.

"I guess I want to know both." I leave her to decide what to divulge. It's like waking the monster with a gentle caress instead of jabbing it with a stick. She is silent for a while.

"Surviving after was okay for a little while. Things sort of continued like they had before, with added security. But apparently the pathetic girl act I played in the arena attracted some attention from the Capitol." She closes her eyes and wraps her arms around herself. "They wanted me to be that girl for them." Her face twists up in disgust. I know what she's referring to. Finnick shared his experience as a sex slave, being sold by the Capitol. "The only reason I did it was because they said they'd kill them all if I didn't. My dad, my brothers, my–" She puts her hand over her mouth, like she's about to be sick. "But I–I couldn't just–" She starts crying and I try to offer comfort but she just bats me away. She doesn't say anything for a while. Her body just shakes and I worry her frail body might snap like a twig.

After a few minutes, Johanna quiets and roughly wipes her face with her hands. "Don't you dare judge me, Mockingjay. I did the best I fucking could to save them." I'm taken aback.

"I wasn't–"

"Well don't even think of doing it." She runs a hand over the fuzz on her head. She shakes her head in an effort to collect herself. "After she died– after they died–I just tried to continue on with the motions of life. But I didn't have a life anymore. I think I chopped down a whole forest of trees. To tell you the truth, it never gets easier. When I had to mentor for the Games, the other victors were kind. At first, I hated Finnick and the way the Capitol manipulated him with his complete compliance but I know why he did it. He was protecting his girl while I couldn't protect mine. He turned out to be a good friend." She sighs. "You know, you think you don't know how to live but they are all still here. Peeta is still here."

She climbs off the bed and goes to her own, digging something out from under the mattress. She returns with the pad of paper and hands it to me. I don't want to see what is under the cover but I open it anyways. His nightmares come alive on the paper: the bakery burning to the ground, my hands around his throat, my arrow piercing in his chest, endless images of my face amongst destruction. But then I find images of him holding me in our cave, his fingers around a burned loaf of bread, a close up of his fingers touching my braid. I absently touch my fingers to my braid, neatly plaited earlier today by Prim.

Johanna smirks. "He said that your braid feels like home. Feels, not felt. If that doesn't give you a purpose to live, I don't know what will."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** _Shoutout to TitleGirl79 for the request for more Peeta. Hope this chapter satisfies! Haha As always, thanks for the reviews and support! Love yall, you keep me motivated! :) Hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I do!_

* * *

I visit with Peeta for the first time since I was shot, at the encouragement of Johanna. She insists that I have to do the work too. She makes a pointed remark about having to just deal with it when I voice concerns about him potentially not wanting to see me. I've come to appreciate that she doesn't treat me like I'm damaged. When I tell her as much, she just says _We're all damaged. You aren't special. _

Johanna doesn't bring the art supplies with her this time. "He's drawn enough, now you two have to talk to each other. I'm not having any more conversations over a piece of paper." She opens his door and we walk in.

Even though I have visited him before, Peeta still seems surprised by my presence. Also a bit of something else… unease? I can't blame him but it still cause my heart to sink by the way he seems to shy away from me as we walk closer.

"Sorry I haven't been around, I've been taking care of this one." Johanna points to me. "For someone that claims to be tough, she needs a lot of reassurance." She smiles at me and I resist the desire to knock her over.

"It's okay," he says. "I've actually been feeling a little better since I made those drawings." His hands twitch under the restraint. I wish we could take them off but it's risky when I'm here. Even now, I worry about how easily he could turn into a threat. But I guess he also feels the same way about me so I take a step backward, almost hiding behind Johanna's tiny body. "It feels grounding, getting to draw what seems stuck in my head most of the time." He looks straight at me when he says it and I want to know what he's been experiencing in those nightmares, even if it makes me want to drown myself in vats of morphling.

"Can you tell me about them?" He looks startled, I don't know if more by my voice or by the request for him to speak about the plagues of his mind aloud.

"I don't know if you'll want to hear them..." He looks down at his hands.

"It's okay, you can tell me." I swallow hard. "I can handle it." I don't know that I can but he deserves at least an attempt. I've seen the pictures but hearing it from his mouth makes them more real. He nods and prepares himself by taking a few deep breaths.

His dreams and mine are almost identical, except for one major difference. In my dreams, I witness his torture and nothing I do can make it stop; I'm forced to watch as they destroy him piece by piece, screaming in agony. In his dreams, I do nothing; I watch as he begs for my support but I make no effort to help him. When he dies in my dreams, I try to breathe life into him without success; when he dies in his dreams, I walk away. He describes how my face is impassive, indifferent, and I realize with sickness building in my gut that this has always been his fear and also his reality.

Despite my best efforts to give him what I could, I always fell short of his desire, maybe even his needs. I remember the day on the train when he discovered that it was all an act, feeling so betrayed and helpless. Even now, as I am certainly the opposite of indifferent, it haunts him. I want to blame the Capitol but I'm most at fault. How could he know what was real with me, when I used him constantly? Not even just when the cameras were on us but when I asked for him to stay with me through nightmares so that he woke to blood curdling screams. Particularly when I didn't come to rescue him in the Capitol despite the genuine affection I gave in the last arena, despite the intimacy we shared on that beach. The Capitol would never have been able to break him had I not given them so many ways to get in.

I stare down at the tiled floor for a while, unable to meet the eyes of the person whom I have let down most in my life. I want to spill all of my sorrow and guilt and regret onto the bed so he can see it laid out. But I've never been able to do that. I've been keeping my world and my feelings locked in my head for so long that I don't think I could possibly begin to find the words. Only the steady beep of machines fills the room for a few minutes.

Johanna is the one to finally break the silence. "From your drawings, I would have thought Katniss would be the one inflicting the torture."

"She is. The worst torture is caring about someone so much and knowing they don't care for you at all." I jerk my head up so quickly that my neck cracks loudly. They both look to me in surprise.

"I do care! The girl in your nightmares isn't me. It might have been me before but it's not me anymore." I want to take a hold of his hand but I knit my fingers together to resist the urge. "I would have never let them do that to you if I could help it. I wouldn't do that to you." He smiles halfheartedly and I know he doesn't believe me. I might be upset had I not been acutely aware of the inconsistencies that define our relationship. I wouldn't believe me either.

Johanna asks about his treatment and he gives her an update on what they've been doing with him during the day but I stop listening. I'm too lost in my own thoughts, just wishing to have been better for him. But I can't have been better; I can't change anything that has happened. He hints that he is tired and so we leave. Johanna catches how deflated I am after the ordeal.

"It's gonna be okay. Now that he's talked to you about the nightmares, maybe they'll get better." She offers a smile before sliding the curtain shut between us. I collapse on the bed, burying my face in my pillow, silently begging it to smother me.

* * *

I'm feeling particularly miserable the next day so my hospital team decides to let me do my walks outside. I easily convince them to let Johanna join me for company; I don't know the last time she's been outside but I can imagine it must be too long for someone who grew up surrounded by trees. The moment we step outside, her eyes light up and she just stands, absorbing every ounce of the sun and the air and the smells that she can. In the ambient light, I can see her body has begun to fill out considerably, so that she has lost the appearance of being sickly. Despite feeding on my morphling for a while, she has been weaned down to a small dose and is nearing complete sobriety. Out here in the woods, she seems more like herself than ever.

We wander within the boundaries, getting as far out as we are permitted. My legs feel warm and supple with the exercise and I find my hand itching for a bow, to simulate normalcy in this abnormal place. Johanna tires before I do so we stop and take a break in a small clearing among the trees, lit with sun beams peeking through patches of leaves. She leans up against a tree and runs her hand along the bark.

"I almost thought I'd never be outside again. I figured those goons would make me stay inside forever." She closes her eyes and smiles. "I want to stay _here_ forever." I always felt that way too, a deep desire to remain where I felt free and safe. "They are going to discharge me soon."

"Really?" Initially I'm happy for her, then I realize the implications. "What about Peeta?"

"I mean, it's not going to be as easy to visit when we don't live in the hospital. I'm sure we can figure out something." Even with her sure tone, I don't know how we could possibly continue as we have been. It's easy to sneak through the isolated hospital wing but constantly leaving our compartments after hours is sure to draw attention to us.

"How long do you think we have?"

"Maybe a week? They're probably gonna kick you out soon, too. You don't really need to be there anyways." That's fair. I've suspected I'm due to return to the compartment. I dread it for the sake of Prim and my mother. "We just have to come up with a good plan for now while we are still cooped up in there. But for now, I'm going to ignore you and relax." She makes herself comfortable among the large tree roots and I busy myself gathering herbs from the clearing to give to Greasy Sae.

When the sky warns us it's time to go back, I have to essentially drag Johanna down into the bunker; had she been strong enough, I think she would have climbed a tree and refused to come back. I can't blame her. Going back underground is worst after enjoying the fresh air and crisp scent of trees. I fall asleep pretending my ceiling is the night sky, littered in stars.

My mattress creaks as Johanna sits down next to me early in the morning. "I have an idea." I roll over to glare at her.

"And why is it so important that you had to tell me now?" I rub my eyes and yawn for effect, so she knows how much she has inconvenienced me. In reality, a nightmare had jostled me up a while ago and I haven't been able to sleep since.

"We are going to go see Peeta right now."

"What? No, his sedative has probably worn off by now." She must be joking. She stares at me with a mischievous grin.

"_Exactly_." She must be mad. The last time I encountered him when he wasn't drugged, he tried to kill me. I don't anticipate the same reaction but I can imagine the Capitol must have triggered something in his brain that causes an intense reaction on sight; a mutt sparked alive by the sight of me. He can manage it at night when he's sedate; I don't want to see it full force. Johanna seems to know all of this. "Come on, brainless. He's not going to be drugged for the rest of his life. You have to visit him when he's fully alert or he'll never get better. Don't worry, I'll be right outside if you need me."

"You're not going in with me?" I feel like we are just asking for trouble. "And what if someone sees us?"

She scoffs in my face. "Seriously? You're the damn Mockingjay. Stop being such a wuss." She grabs my arm forcefully and literally pulls me out of the bed. "Where is that drawing he gave you with the dandelion?" Shoot, it's in my compartment in the silver parachute. "Wherever it is, go get it and be fast; the hospital workers are going to coming soon.

Luckily, most people are not yet awake, though I still try to be as quiet as I can. I can't move too quickly given my body is still sore but I make it to the compartment without a problem. I grab the whole parachute to be safe and tuck it under my arm before bolting out of there. Right as I'm closing the door, I bump into someone. I wince as he apologizes on contact, recognizing his voice immediately. I turn and Gale looks down at me in surprise.

"Catnip? What are you doing here?" He eyes my white gown. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"I just had to get something." I hold onto the parachute tighter. He shifts his weight around in discomfort.

"I wanted to come by to visit you sooner but I didn't think you'd want to see me." I don't respond. I don't think I wanted to see him either if I'm honest with myself. The Gale I know feels as far away as Peeta. "I know you don't think what we did was right but we did manage to get Two to join us. Your speech really helped to bring them on our side."

"I'm glad to hear that." I try to move past him but he blocks the way. "Gale, I have to go."

"Why are you upset with me?"

"Really? You killed _thousands_ of people in the way our fathers died and you think I should be fine with it since we now have Two? Dammit Gale, just get out of my way." He sidesteps and lets me go. I feel his stare on me but I don't look back.

I get to the hospital and Johanna immediately snaps at me, "What took you so long?"

"Just shut up." I throw the parachute on the bed and it pops open, releasing my prized belongings across the sheets. I rub my eyes. I don't think I can do this right now. Johanna reaches on the bed and picks up something by the pillow. She holds my pearl in her thumb and index finger, examining it closely.

"Is this the one he gave you in the arena?" I nod. My body feels heavy. I hold my hand out and she places it in my palm. It's cool to the touch and I roll it between my own fingers. My tension begins to fade away as I caress it. "Are you ready?"

"Okay." I grab the drawing and kiss the pearl to my lips before I put in my pocket.

Johanna wants me to talk about the memory in the drawing since he said it felt real. I know she has no idea what the memory is, just that it means something to both of us given my reaction to it. It's still early so we have some time, just not a lot of it. She comes up with basic warnings to let me know when to leave: one knock to take caution and wrap it up, two knocks and someone is getting close and three knocks is get the hell out of there. She stressed how limited our time is and then shoves me in the room.

Peeta is coming to when I walk in and looks at me straight on, not sure if he believes I'm real or some ghost haunting him. When he realizes it's actually me standing here, not some illusion, his eyes narrow at me. The venom inside him seems to have activated; hate taking over every other possible feeling toward me. I take a moment to breathe and then walk closer to him until I'm about an arm's length away from the bed. I forget what I'm doing here as I search his eyes for anything but the darkness that overwhelms them. I feel lost in them, but not in the good way.

I watch his eyes drop to my hands and I follow them. The drawing! That's right. I unfold it in my shaky hands and stare at it for a minute. "Do you remember the day when you saved my life?" He watches me cautiously and nods, still maintaining a wrinkled brow and a general air of distrust. I look down, unable to bear the memory while this stares back at me. "I was afraid they took that away from you. It's one of the most precious memories that I have and I couldn't imagine them taking that away from us." I dare to look back up at him and his features have softened but not by much. "I thought it might be gone but then you made this." I turn the drawing around and hold it out to him. He looks as confused as ever and then some spark of recognition comes and his eyes open wide. They brighten considerably, not completely but enough that blue shines through.

"I made this…?" He seems to know that it was drawn with his hand but it doesn't seem like he trusts himself anymore. In my own emotional turmoil, I've just assumed I was the sole target but as he asks me, I realize he distrusts himself even more than he distrusts me. My heart drops a little. Just another example of how I was thinking of myself more than I was thinking of him.

"Yes. You drew it one night when Johanna was visiting you." He stares at the ceiling, trying to recall and when he does, he looks back at me and nods. I smile weakly. "Do you remember what it is?" He looks at the drawing and nods again.

"It was after I threw you the bread. The next day at school, I tried to catch you eye and you turned away."

My eyes are growing full but I try to hold the tears in. "I wanted to thank you but I didn't know how."

"Then you picked a dandelion." I close my eyes and a tear manages to escape. I bite my lip to keep the sob in my throat. "I think I really loved you."

"You did. More than I deserved." _You could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him. _Haymitch's voice rings in my ears.

_Knock_.

My eyes spring open and I look over my shoulder briefly, then back at Peeta. His own eyes are cloudy but not just from the fog that has messed with his mind. "I wanted you to love me too." His eyes droop as he looks back down at the drawing in my hand.

_Knock. Knock_. Johanna bangs the door frantically.

"I wanted to love you, too." I choke out. "I just don't know how, Peeta. I need you to come back and show me how. _Please_." I plead. I can barely see through the tears but I reach my hand out and touch his face. I don't even hesitate when I place my lips on his. It only lasts a second but I think I felt him return the kiss. When I pull back, his face is inches from mine and his eyes are blue and crisp.

"Katniss." He sighs and I begin to sob.

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK._ There is a wild commotion outside and I hear Johanna screaming obscenities.

I turn back to Peeta and see the blue slowly fading back into black. "No no no." I take his face in my hands. "Please don't leave me." I beg. But he fades away from me and arms grab me around the waist and drag me out of the room. The last thing I catch sight of is him fighting back, his eyes flashing blue and a restrained hand outstretched to me.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N **_Thanks all for your patience! I'm sorry I took so long to update, I went on vacation and then had a lot of work to do so I wasn't able to finish this chapter any sooner. I have really important applications to submit soon but I hope to be able to update as soon as I can! :)_

_As always, thanks so much for all of the reviews! I'm glad you guys liked the last chapter so much! Hopefully I can continue to satisfy with the chapters that follow. _

* * *

Haymitch drags me down the hall and I fight him every step of the way, throwing my arms around hoping one of the punches will make contact. My feet tumble under each another as I struggle. He opens a door to an empty room and releases me, my body screaming in pain and I fall to the floor.

"What the hell were you doing?" I feel particularly vulnerable as he stands over me. I stumble around, trying to stand, rejecting his help when he offers a hand.

"I'm doing what you can't and what you wouldn't let me do; helping Peeta." I cross my arms over my chest instinctively. "I needed to see him. He needs my help to get better and obviously you don't care enough about him to do what he needs." Haymitch's lips narrow and his body tenses; I half expect him to strike me as he steps forward.

"I don't care? I guess spending the last year and a half trying to keep you both alive means nothing?" He's practically yelling and I fight every instinct telling me to physically respond, to attack. "I'm the only one in this god forsaken place caring for both you and the boy!"

"You're doing a shitty job right now. I've spent most of my time in a hospital and my Peeta only exists for seconds at a time! What kind of a life is that?" I grip my arms tighter but it can't stop my body as it begins to shake. "I feel like I barely even exist anymore and the one person that believes in me lies in a hospital bed all day with almost no recollection of loving me. He thinks I'm a monster and I can't even disagree with him." I'm certainly the villain in more nightmares than just Peetas' and it couldn't be clearer why after what has happened at Eight, Two, who knows where else. "I'm doing the best I can and I only get glimpses of who he used to be." I don't know what would be worse, him being gone completely or always just being out of reach. He's always just out of reach. I lean against the side of the bed. "I can't keep this up. I feel like I lose a piece of myself every time he disappears."

Haymitch and I stand in silence for a while and he eventually softens his stance. "Maybe I should have listened to you. These quacks don't know shit about that boy." He sighs. "I was just afraid it would destroy you, seeing him like this, and I couldn't bear losing both of you. Apparently I was just making it worse." The scowl on his face has faded but I continue to keep my distance. "I'm sorry I didn't let you see him."

The pity eventually wins over my frustration with him. "Johanna and I have been visiting Peeta at night for a while." He eyes widen. First he seems surprised and then he appears annoyed.

"Katniss, that was incredibly stupid and risky. For both of you."

"You know what's more risky? Letting him ruminate about all his twisted thoughts without any sort of outlet." Haymitch nods his head in resignation. "Plus he's sedated." He thinks about that for a moment.

"We once tried showing him clips from the Games while sedated. Nothing graphic," he adds when I look at him in horror. "We showed him the story the goat, while you in the cave. But it didn't seem to make an impact on his opinion of you. That was actually Prim's idea; she suggested that morphling had the opposite effect of the tracker jacker venom and might soften his senses. Smart girl." I smile at the compliment. I only wonder why Prim never told me that they asked for her input related to Peeta. I think of how she has come to be more of a caretaker for me instead of the other way around. "How was he when you visited him while sedated?"

My body feels heavy. "It's been okay." I try to relay it all back to him in as much detail as I can but everything seems to fall behind the memory of a few minutes ago. As I recount the acknowledgement that he must have loved me and the kiss that brought him back briefly before he faded away, I can't help but think about all of the moments when I held him, kissed him, and how I _was_ the Katniss of his nightmares. He described the indifference of this girl as being more torturous than physically wounding him. Haymitch listens patiently but I have trouble reading his tightened expression. I don't even want to hear what he has to say.

"You know, he's actually been doing a better. Here I thought it was the hours of breathing exercises and therapy but now I don't actually believe that is our doing. It was you." I smile weakly. It was probably more Johanna than anything. She was tortured alongside him and they share memories that bond them together; they are helping each other recover. Or maybe it was just getting to draw. To transfer his rage, horror, trauma onto paper. I feel haunted by these images and can't help but feel like it is fair punishment for all I have put him through. "What do you suggest we do next?" What do I think we should do next? I'd like to bury myself in rubble in District Twelve, where I can't hurt anyone.

I look down to my hands. The drawing is gone, probably on the floor of Peeta's room. I think of the schoolyard, covered in ash, and the dandelions that won't grow this year. I don't deserve his love, his kindness, but I selfishly want it. I want him to draw me not because he can't hold the disturbing images stuck in his head, but because he can't contain the warmth, the affection inside him. "Just let him do his art," I say. "It'll help." Haymitch nods.

He walks me back down the hall but before he goes, he firmly grabs my shoulders and speaks in a hushed tone. "Katniss, you can't keep this up without consequence. I know you think you can do whatever you want but they aren't particularly fond of the fact that you continue to negate orders and reject procedure. I can help you this time but just be careful, okay?" I nod, reminded that my disobedience has continued to cause harm to more than just me.

I turn the corner and Johanna is sitting on my bed waiting for me, her eyes framed by massive red and purple splotches. The bruises are screaming at me and even as she quickly offers assurance that she is fine, I'm overtaken by the day. Instantly, I begin bawling. I'm sure it's loud and ugly but I can't seem to stop. Some attendant rushes over but Johanna snaps at them to go away and guides me back to the bed. She speaks in a low tone and pets my hair but nothing she does provides any sort of comfort. Eventually she climbs up next to me and holds me. I continue to weep until I eventually fall asleep, the haze of sleep making me acutely aware of the devastating wave of loneliness washing over my whole body.

* * *

The head doctor has misgivings about the mental status of both of us so Johanna and I find ourselves bound to the hospital indefinitely until we can convince someone of our sanity or stability or some other fantastical state that doesn't really exist. I don't protest, maybe I'm too removed to even care, but Johanna throws a huge fit and the doctor sticks her with something and she's out. I can't bear to be alone with my thoughts and I almost feel relieved when Plutarch pays me a visit. Almost. Somehow, he gets the permissions needed to let me walk outside.

I have no desire to spend any time with him but it's been a while since we've spoken and I'm so desperate for the warm sun to reach my skin that I agree. He's tried to visit a few times but I would always pretend to be sleeping. We filmed a propo to let everyone know I wasn't dead after the shooting and since, I haven't any desire to be in front of a camera. The moment we get outside, he begins to tell me about an upcoming propo and I internally sigh. Maybe I can convince that head doctor to declare me too unstable for the spotlight. But apparently it's not about me. As soon as he says the word _wedding _I think I'm going to be violently ill but he catches my expression and quickly assures me that it's not for me; it's for Annie and Finnick. A happy occasion. While I was avoiding his visits, all the details had already been worked out. He asks for my help for the wardrobe. He also asks me to pretend to be happy for them, but I don't have to pretend at all.

In almost no time at all, after clearing it with my head doctor of course, I'm put on a hovercraft with my prep team, Annie, and Finnick. I know very little about Annie apart from the fact that Finnick adores her and her mind suffered dearly following her Games. Finnick holds her hand the whole ride, offering words of assurance when she needs it and helping her return to the conversation when she drifts of into her own world. The green of her eyes reminds me of the colour of the water at the lake in the summertime and I catch Finnick staring at them with a look of worship remember well myself. The madness that Annie is notorious for doesn't seem to be more than any other victor, she just doesn't hide it as well as the rest of us: Finnick in his charm, Johanna in her ferocity, Peeta in his kindness, his patience. My heart aches and we land just as I am able to swallow the rush of emotion.

At my house, my prep team cries in my closet over my— or more so Cinna's— beautiful clothes from the Victory Tour. I myself can't help but run a hand along a silky, earth-green dress that Cinna made for me, longing for his company and his guidance. The team tries to find a dress for Annie, pulling themselves together just enough to focus on matching colors for her skin tone, and I slip away to get a suit from Peeta's house. Finnick offers to accompany me but I don't think I could manage going there if he joined me. He says he understands but I know he can't.

I hesitate before I turn the doorknob, not sure I can even do this. The door opens with a faint creak and I step forward into the large foyer, imagining how it must have felt to live here alone in this massive house. I realize I actually don't know where anything is; Peeta visited me, never the other way around. The layout is the same but it feels foreign and I'm wandering through it blind. The first bedroom I enter is empty apart from a very Capitol-designed bed and other furnishings that don't fit here in District Twelve. I realize he might have the claimed the same room that I did and the thought pulls at me so I quickly decide to check all the other rooms before that one.

As I open the door to what is the study in my own house, I expect a carbon copy as it came already furnished when we moved in. Instead, my senses are overwhelmed with an array of colors, strewn across more canvases than I could begin to count. They coat the walls, leaning against them as well as hanging, and there are piles in the corners of the room. Some of the paintings I specifically remember, him having shared being haunted by the images of the Games, but others are novel and painted with wide strokes of color, focusing less on physical objects and more on emotion and movement. The wooden desk is pushed against the window, covered in towers of bound and loose paper. I delicately step around the canvases and plastic tarps on the floor until I reach the desk. I pick one of the sketchbooks up and open it to find sketches of plants that I remember from when he and I spent time in my room after my heel injury, adding to my family plant book. I smile at the memory. I see one sketchbook placed apart from the others and can't help but take it in my fingers. I open the cover and take in a sharp breath.

This was a horrible idea. I should have just found his room, taken a suit and left. I shouldn't have opened this door, I should have kept well enough alone. Haven't I learned anything? Apparently not because I seem to have found a sketchbook filled with portraits of me.

Peeta has always paid attention so I shouldn't be surprised that he captures moments that I never get to see: my brow wrinkled in confusion; a sour grimace; a pout on my lips; even a laugh, something that now feels so foreign to my muscles. Some are close up and others are full body sketches. I flip though and get a glimpse of myself from his eyes. I hover on one image in particular, which takes me a moment to figure out but then I realize it's his perspective of us, clinging together on the train during the Victory Tour. These were moments in which I felt most vulnerable and also most safe. I shut it closed, unable to look any longer.

I delicately place the sketchbook in my bag and then pile in a few more, including the one filled with plants and empty ones too. For good measure, I throw some tubes of paint, brushes and small blank canvases in the bag too. I have no idea what he might need so I just stuff the bag until it bulges awkwardly and is hard to carry. I try not to look at the paintings when I leave, shutting the door behind me with more force than it needs. I spare no time running up to where my own room was and find it screaming Peeta. I just quickly move to the closet and pull out what I can carry and get out of there as soon as I can. I don't speak for the remainder of the trip back to Thirteen.

* * *

I have no idea what to expect from this wedding but somehow they manage to pull together something that resembles a ceremony and a toasting the week following our trip to Twelve. Plutarch is clearly out of his depth making something so quaint by his standard but manages to make this dungeon illuminate with the radiance of a wedding in District Four. Woven nets, torches and wetland foliage decorate the walls and they perform the ceremony as similar to they can to what would be done for the couple back home. Annie and Finnick light up the room with their matching smiles and hold one another, certainly never planning to let the other go again.

The sole person from District Twelve that escaped with his instrument, a delicate little fiddle, begins to play a hoppy song that can't help but bring everyone to their feet. Despite being the most impoverished district in Panem, we were still always able to find joy in song and dance. The people of Twelve pour into the dance floor, including Gale and Prim, and I can't help but feel a rush of warmth. Sometimes I don't know how any of them can find the light in the dark world we live in but somehow they do and I try to absorb every ounce of it that I can.

I'm watching them when Johanna shows up at my side. The doctors permitted both of us to join in the festivities, in hopes that it might even pull the pair of us from the dark existence we seem to be drowning in. "Why aren't you dancing?" She asks, the classic scowl on her face. I feel myself itching to jump out there and join the dance but I feel stuck to this spot.

"My head is too full to dance," I say. Part of me feels guilty having any sort of happiness while Peeta is still bound to his hospital bed. I haven't seen him since the kiss. Haymitch has assured me that they've given him the supplies I gave him and have started incorporating it into his recovery. I've been too afraid to visit him and they've made sure Johanna isn't able to make unsupervised visits.

"It's okay to have fun, you know. And can you imagine the look on Snow's face will do when he sees you dancing?" I smile at that. I can't imagine anything else more satisfying than knowing he will be seeing this footage. I make a move to join and turn back to Johanna.

"Do you know how to dance?" The moment she shakes her head no, I take a hold of her hand and drag her with me onto the dance floor. She resists initially but gives in. Prim smiles bright when I approach her and hugs me. Then she and I proceed to teach Johanna the steps and then the three of us are dancing. The dance changes us. We are no longer refugees, victims, survivors; we are people, experiencing collective joy and fun and we are all transformed. The people of Thirteen are overtaken by the life they have been missing and embrace it wholeheartedly. Johanna and I smile and laugh, forgetting the woes that have rocked our lives so severely.

The festivities cease only to reveal a surprise that was planned by Plutarch, specifically for the propo. Johanna pushes me toward a crowd that has begun to form. I look at her in question and she just motions for me to look ahead. A side door opens and a team of people wheel out a large wedding cake. It towers over the guests and even over the heads of guests, you can see intricate details of ocean waves and sailboats, elaborate flowers and embellishments. I push through the crowd to get a closer look, baffled by what seems to be equality impossible and undeniably true; this cake was decorated by Peeta's hand.

I think back to the first moment in which Johanna gave him that pencil, in which he was finally reunited with a core piece of his being. Even with hesitation, he guided the instrument with mastery and comfort and all I wanted was for him to get to have that peace whenever he wanted it. I never witnessed any of Peeta's baking apart from receiving the finished product but I imagine his face steady in intense concentration, looking up at the cake as a blank canvas and seeing the endless potential. His hands would have moved slow and gentle, frosting every detail with importance and determination. Looking at this cake, I feel a sense of deep relief but also pain that I don't really understand.

As if on cue, Haymitch pops up at my side. He leads me out into a hallway away from the cameras. I open my mouth but all I can manage is a "How…?"

"He asked to do it. After that incident with you going into his room, I visited him. He wasn't particularly excited to see me since I haven't actually spoken to him since he's been back. But as I promised you, I brought him some pencils and paper and he seemed to feel better when he was drawing. I told him about the wedding on the day that you went to Twelve and he asked if he could decorate the cake." This sounded like my Peeta; generous and kind. "He was even more uplifted when we gave him the paints and sketchbooks that you brought back from his house. He's been more like he was before."

"Can I see him?" The words come out before I can even stop myself. I'm not sure what I'm thinking, maybe still thinking of that last time when I brought him back to me for a moment.

Haymitch seems a little hesitant and considers something in his head before speaking. "He wants to see you too." I startle a little. For some reason, I can't help but feel apprehensive. "Is that okay?" I nod, not really sure if it is but maybe if the feeling is mutual, it might be okay.

I'm standing outside of Peeta's room, nervous because I know that this time we will not be alone; Peeta's doctors are in the room with the one-way glass and Haymitch, while standing next to me now, will join them once I step inside. He squeezes my shoulder in reassurance and I take a deep breath before I open the door.

Peeta doesn't look at me immediately; he's busy looking at something he has in his hand. His restraints are considerably looser, so that he can move his arms enough that he can look through what I see is a book in his hand. One of the sketchbooks, more specifically. He looks up at me and his eyes lock on, staring into my soul and I look down at the floor. I don't know what to say. He speaks first.

"These are from my house." I look up and he motions with his head toward a table, covered with the paints and paper and canvas that I brought here from Twelve. I nod. "Did you bring them here?" I nod again. "That's what they told me but I don't understand." He looks down at the book in his hands and then back up to me. "Why would you do that? It doesn't make any sense."

"I thought you should have them," I say, lamely. "I thought they might help you feel better." I shrug. He just stares at me. I can't read his expression but I can tell my answer is inadequate. "You processed best with art. You were good with words too but you were even better with your sketches and your paintings." He becomes preoccupied by the book again. I wish I could see it.

"I can't tell what this is," he says, still looking down. "I know I drew these pictures of you because I loved you…" My heart hurts at _loved_. "But in this one, you are holding me and I'm confused by it." I know what he's talking about; it's the picture of us on the train, wrapped together in my bed. Could that really be gone too?

"That was on the Victory Tour." He listens intently. "You heard me screaming one night and stayed with me." He looks up at the ceiling, eyes squinting as if trying to recall it. I don't want to continue, overwhelmed by the fact that this intimate moment seems to only belong to me now. How could that be true? "When we slept together, holding each other as we fell asleep, we could protect each other from the nightmares." He jerks his head down so quickly that I tense and step backward in defense.

"I was afraid of losing you," he says. It hurts to hear him say it. "What were you afraid of?" It feels so personal and I realize I'm afraid to offer this information to this Peeta. But he's also the Peeta that I know, somewhere in there, too.

"Everything," I say, in a faint whisper that I'm not sure that he hears but then he nods his head knowingly.

"I'm afraid of everything, too." I know the way he stares back at me that he is most afraid of me and I can't handle it so I have to leave. Haymitch follows after me but I tell him to leave me alone. I run back to my bed and bury my face in my pillow, screaming until my head grows fuzzy and aches.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N **_Thanks for all the continued support! Hopefully I will be more consistent from this point on related to my updates! I'm really sick at the moment but hopefully that'll also mean I can spend more time writing._

* * *

As if things couldn't get worse, Haymitch tells me that Coin isn't letting me go to the Capitol and I'm enraged by the time I get to command, fully intending to tell her off. When I get there, some war meeting is going on but I couldn't care less.

"What the hell? I'm the damn Mockingjay, you can't keep me from the Capitol!" I say.

Coin barely reacts. "Your job as the Mockingjay is to unify the districts and you've done that. If all goes as planned, we'll fly you in for the surrender."

"That's not good enough! I'll miss all of the fighting and you don't have a better shot than me." None of them can deny my skill, even if they seem to put me down in every other way. "If Gale is going, I should be allowed to go too."

"Gale has been training almost every day since he arrived at Thirteen. How many training sessions have _you _attended." Coin asks. I wince, thinking of the schedule that I neglected every day. I haven't even gone to one training session. "You aren't in any shape to fight."

"We know you're smart and a good shot, Katniss," Boggs chimes in. "But you're no solider and don't know anything about our tactics. Not to mention you aren't at physical peak."

"That's not exactly fair. You made me go to District Two, where I was _shot._ That wasn't my fault and it got them on our side right? It's not as if I haven't been doing anything."

Coin stares me down. "You are a wild card that has little self-control. Why would you be allowed to fight?" A sharp blow that hits me in the gut. "The doctors in the hospital have concerns about your mental state so much that they are making you stay indefinitely; would _you_ let you go?" I fight to maintain my spirit when I realize that their concerns are completely valid. I'm a small seventeen year-old girl with no formal combat training, with bruised ribs that haven't quite healed yet, and that has panic episodes constantly. But I can't just let this be the end.

"But I need to go."

"Why?" Coin asks.

I don't know how to say it in a way that doesn't make me seem insane or vengeful but I do have a lot to fight for. I can't leave all of that behind just because I'm not in shape or in perfect mental status. I can't just forget about what they did to Twelve. What they did to Peeta. "They destroyed my home, my district. I can't sit here and let them get away with that."

After a long silence Coin speaks. "You don't have much time but if you get the approval of the training Assignment Board and get approval from the hospital staff, we will consider letting you go. You have less than a month."

That is enough for me. On my way back to the hospital, I can't help but think of the days I wasted in vents and closets when I could be training and avoiding this trouble. At the time, it sounded pretty useless but now it's biting me in the butt.

Back at the hospital, Johanna is a ball of rage because it seems they aren't letting her go to the Capitol either. I'm not surprised at all but I don't tell her that since I don't need her mad at me. I tell her she should come train with me and maybe they will let her go.

"Fine, I'll go to training but if they won't let me go, I'll kill a crew and fly there myself," she says.

I smirk. "I wouldn't say that in training that but I'm glad I'll have a ride."

"Katniss and Johanna against the Capitol. I like the sound of that." She laughs and the sound sends a wave of warmth through me.

* * *

We have to report for training at 7:30am and it takes some serious effort to get Johanna out of bed. Somehow we arrive on time, though with only a moment to process that we are training with children younger than us. It's insulting but when we start our workouts, it's obvious that they are in better condition than we are. Stretching is painful but I'm able to manage through it and the intense strengthening exercises but once we are instructed to do a five mile run, I'm in too much pain to continue beyond a mile. Johanna glares and shouts insults my way when I have to drop out early.

The trainer is not impressed by complaints about my rib pain. She encourages me to get treatment from the hospital to take care of it, something they neglected to offer to me sooner. She warns me that it will be miserable but I insist so she writes something down on a pad for me to give the doctors.

Following 24 needle jabs to my rib cage, I feel like I'm going to die. I beg them for morphling and they give it to me reluctantly. Johanna comes back and complains about my leaving her to do the training alone. She eyes my morphling, something I helped her wean off but still draws her in like an arrow to a bow. I see her itching to take a hit, to numb the pains in her body, her mind.

"You don't need it," I assure her. "There isn't anything to escape from anymore. You're safe." It sounds so lame and something like her head doctor might say but it seems to resonate with her because she takes a deep breath and just lays on her bed. We listen to one another breathing for a while and despite not being able to sleep because of the stabbing pain, I am relaxed by the rhythmic sounds of sleep.

When morning comes, she is determined to make me train. "I don't know if I can do it."

"Oh come on, you can do this. We are victors, remember? You survived actual hell, you can survive a little exercise." She takes my hand and gets me out of the bed.

Making it through the morning seems impossible but we seem to manage somehow. The stretching seems to help with the pain. Johanna offers words of encouragement which seem to help too. I think she might be invincible until we go outside for our five-mile run and it's raining. Her body becomes tense and her eyes cloudy. Her body is frozen with the exception of tremors in her hands. I don't understand.

"Hey, what's up? It's just rain." I step in front of her and take a hold of her shaking hands. She meets my eyes and she is unmistakably afraid. Of what, I'm not sure but I need her to pull herself together. I can't do this alone. "You're safe, nothing is trying to hurt you. You're okay." She takes a shaky breath and nods. I realize I've never seen her afraid of anything. As we walk toward the running course, I make a mental note to ask her about that later.

We get soaked to the bone but my body is on fire and even the cool rain can't calm the screaming of my ribs. I don't make it much farther than I did the day before but our trainer has some empathy for me, though Johanna definitely does not. She seems to be suffering greatly and when we break for lunch, she is unable to keep it down. Through the afternoon, her hands are shaking violently and I have to help her put the gun together when our trainer has her back turned. The gun feels too bulky but I manage to score the best of anyone in the class.

When we get back to the hospital, I'm about to ask Johanna about her freak out earlier when Haymitch comes up to us and asks to speak with me privately. Johanna rolls her eyes and leaves us.

"The boy wants to talk to you." I exhausted but I know I need to be there for him so I follow him to Peeta's room while he offers encouraging details about how art has been very therapeutic for him and he hasn't had an episode since they started. I want to believe it but I'm afraid to get my hopes up just to have them snatched away by another one of the remarks that reminds me of how manipulative and selfish I was throughout our entire relationship.

Haymitch goes in with me, which initially I'm confused by but then I see that Peeta's limbs are no longer restrained. He sits in his bed, pencil in hand, drawing in one of the sketchbooks I brought him. I flash Haymitch a glare, not appreciating that he didn't give me any sort of warning. Peeta looks up and offers what I believe to be a forced smile at us. Haymitch sits in a side chair, there only in case something goes wrong.

"How are you doing, Peeta?" His name tastes flat on my tongue. I can't help but mentally kick myself for even trying to pretend like I can ask him how he is doing, as if he isn't miserable and somewhat deranged. He just shrugs. He seems distracted, eyes focusing on something on the table a few feet away from his bed.

Finally he looks back at me and says, "I want to show you something." He gets out of the bed and I visibly flinch. He's startled and looks at me in confusion. "Are you... afraid of me?"

I try as hard as I can not to grimace at the hurt in his voice. "I don't know," I say, wrapping my arms across my chest.

"That's not fair, you have no reason to be afraid of me. I'm the one that should be afraid of you, after all that you've done!" His voice morphs into one that I don't recognize and Haymitch stands. But Peeta doesn't make any move toward me; in fact, he seems to cower away just as I am from him. He stares down at his hands, which have inadvertently formed to fists. He opens them and watches them tremble. "I don't understand… This isn't me…" He whispers to himself. He looks up at us, eyes wide and fearful. "What's wrong with me?"

I don't know what to say but Haymitch has apparently been hiding details from me because he can answer this question. "The doctors have been calling it dissociation. Your mind has been associating your memories of Katniss with your torture and as a coping mechanism, your mind shuts all of them out. It's basically working overtime trying to protect you and sometimes it falters and the overwhelming mash of twisted memories result in an episode."

"But I remember sometimes? How else would I have made these?" He motions to the table, covered in art. I look to see what he's talking about but I'm distracted when I see my dandelion drawing. I immediately think about how it feels too precious to leave here with him and then I realize that is horrible; it was _him_ that made it.

"When you've been sedated, most of your memories return but once that wears off, your brain kicks in again and shuts most of it down. But even though you don't remember everything, we are confident that all of the memories are still in there. But that's why you still have intense anger and fear related to Katniss." Peeta glances at me and it takes every fiber in my being to remain still. "It's why there are moments that even you are aware that you aren't acting like yourself. It's all very confusing." He waves a hand dismissively, as he hasn't just disclosed something so important. "Since we've let you do your drawing, you've been slowly able to cope with the memories and so they are coming back to you without causing an episode. This may or may not be one of those times," he adds.

Peeta stares at his drawings and then nods his head slowly. I wish I could know what he remembers and what memories are twisted so that my nimble hands are a threat.

"What can we do?" I ask him.

"Just what you told us to, sweetheart. Keep going with the art and maybe let him leave this room." I desperately wish for him to have the freedom he deserves but I'm also terrified of her hands finding my throat in an episode of intense anger. Peeta is trembling and looking over his art and I know what I need to do next.

Back in our room, I open the curtain between my bed and Johanna's and say, "We have to get out of here."

She is sprawled on her bed and doesn't even open her eyes. "Don't have to tell me twice, brainless."

"No, I'm serious. We can't live in the hospital anymore."

She perks up but looks skeptical. "You really think they are going to let me live alone? They aren't that dumb."

"You and I can live together." The words pour out before I can stop them but I realize it's a great idea. I'm sick of making Prim and my mother suffer anyways.

The head doctors need convincing but once they speak with Haymitch and my mother, they agree, so long as they check up on us. They put us in a compartment next to Prim and my mother and Johanna gets her first glimpse of living outside of the hospital. It's not large or pretty but Johanna doesn't seem to mind; she is over the moon excited by the fact that she has her own space. It isn't until I'm fiddling with my pearl and looking over my other possessions when I realize she has none. All she has is the grey jumpsuit she wears and I don't know if she even considers them to be hers; she never really was a fan of wearing clothes as I recall.

I haven't had a chance to clean up since training and I can tell from the caked dirt and grime under Johanna's nails that she hasn't either. "Do you want to shower first or should I?" She winces and tells me to go ahead. But once I finish, she doesn't make a move toward the bathroom. "Aren't you going to shower?"

"Shut up, Mockingjay! Give me a minute." She storms into the bathroom and slams the door. Over the next thirty minutes or so, I don't hear any hint of water running. We are supposed to head to dinner soon. I'm about the knock on the door when I hear the distinct sound of retching. I open the door and Johanna is huddled beside the toilet, shaking violently. A towel wraps around her loosely, tangled in her limbs. She looks up at me, her amber eyes dark and wide.

Johanna reminds me of a wild dog, snarling and bearing its teeth even in moments of weakness. I'm afraid to reach out to her for fear of being bitten. Instead I kneel down a few feet away from her and wait. Eventually, the dry heaving ceases and her body goes still. She just says, "I couldn't do it. I tried, I just couldn't."

"What couldn't you do?" I ask. She looks over toward the small box that is our shower. Then I remember the panic she experienced earlier in the day with the rain and something occurs to me. "Is this because of them? Did they do something to you with…?" She nods weakly and I feel awful about earlier when I forced her to run in the rain. I was always so worried about what they had done to Peeta to even consider what they had done to Johanna. When she first arrived, she was bald, bruised, wounded, and emancipated; and yet I never thought to ask about anything other than Peeta when it came to their time in the Capitol.

I want to bury myself under the covers of my bed but I can't. I offer a hand to Johanna and help her to stand. "What can I do to help?" I ask. She looks at me, puzzled.

"Why are you so concerned? I'm _fine. _You need to stop worrying about everyone else and start worrying about yourself. _" _I think she might be putting that rock hard exterior back up and trying to hurt me but then I realize she's being genuine. "I know I told you that you need to care more about Peeta than yourself but Jesus, if you don't start worrying about you, there won't be anything left for Peeta to come back to."

"Maybe that's a good thing," I say. "He doesn't need me. He's different now."

She scoffs. "And you aren't? We're all different now. You, me, Peeta, Finnick; don't get me started on Annie. Everyone has their own issues to deal with; the Games changed us. Are you still the girl who volunteered for her sister?" I've thought about the ways that Prim is different but I realize I haven't taken a look at myself and the toll this last year and a half has played on me. I am different. "You might not want to admit it but you are you because of your crap. If you can't acknowledge that, you won't be able to make any real steps forward and move on."

* * *

Johanna and I spend the next week getting up early every morning and training our asses off. Soon my ribs don't hurt at all and Johanna can assemble and shot her gun without any help from me. We run until our legs feel like they are going to fall off and shout insults at one another as a form of encouragement and it seems to work well. By the end of the week, the exercise comes to feel good instead of hurt like hell and I can see Johanna enjoying feeling strong again. We are becoming the soldiers that we need to be to go to the Capitol.


End file.
